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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

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SOX 


_/_ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


itails 
i  du 
odifier 
une 
mage 


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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  n6cessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


rrata 
to 


pelure. 


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2 

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32X 


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'I  i 


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)     1 


If 


Soljlarv  Island... 


A    STORY    OF    

THE     ST.    LAWRENCE 


BV 


JOHN    TALBOT   SMITH 


AUTHOR  OF 


BROTHER  AZARl AS,"     '  A  WOMAN    OP    CULTURE," 
"  HIS    HONOR    THE    MAYOR,"  •'  SARANAC,"  ETC. 


THIRD    EDITION 


NEW   YORK 

WILLIAM    H.  YOUNG   &    COMPANY 

31  Barclay  Street 

1897 


f 


CopvmoHT,  iSijf 

BY 

JOHN    TAI.KOT    SMITH 


j4U  right t  ritirvtd 


i     . 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB 
I 
II, 
III. 

IV. 
V, 
VI. 
VII. 
VIII. 
IX. 
X. 
XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII. 
XIX. 
XX. 
XXI. 
XXII. 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 
XXV, 
XXVI. 


FLIGHT! '^^J 

Marriage 

The  Island ^^ 

The  Sick  Room 39 

On  Retreat '.  _ 

Death '^J? 

A  Bohemian L 

The  Portrait  on  the  Wall  .        09 

R^™ :::;:::::::;■■■  106 

A  Reunion . .  _ 

Old  Hopes " ..,", 

Rejected * .  T^ 

The  Inquisitors [[ j^g 

Mystery .„ 

.  T->  low 

A  Barbecue .~^ 

Rossiter's  Luck '  _ jgg 

A  Proposal g^. 

Mrs.  Winifred's  Confession .......        212 

Barbara  Wins "   goA 

Prince  Florian [[[   346 

The  Prince's  Story 267 

Barbara's  Spite 095 

Terrible  Truth m 

The  Hidden  Life 310 

Reparation „„ . 

True  Hearts 849 


i 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


i 


CHAJ^TEK  I. 


FLIGHT  ! 

Among  the  beautiful  islands  in  tliat  wonderful 
cluster  at  the  source  of  the  river  St.  Lawrence  is  onci 
noticeable  fcr  its  petty  size  and  peculiar  shape.  It 
covers  a  quarter  of  an  acre,  perliaps,  and  lying  at 
the  foot  of  a  sister  island  some  seven  miles  lon;^-, 
would  never  attract  visitors  but  for  its  shape  and  its 
excellent  view  of  the  village  of  Claylnirgh.  Smaller 
islands,  mere  rocky  stars  on  the  watery  blue,  crowd 
about  it,  and  shut  it  out  from  the  sight  of  approach- 
ing travelers ;  but,  arching  its  b;ick  from  the  water 
like  a  bow,  and  throwing  into  the  air  a  natural  pyra- 
mid of  moss-eaten  graystone,  it  offers  a  summit  high 
above  its  sisters.  Nature  has  provided  a  stairwav 
to  the  platfoi'm  above,  and  a  stunted  tree  clingin'o- 
there  welcomes  the  sightseer  with  scanty  shade. 

Here,  on  a  day  of  early  September,  sat  a  man 
quietly  looking  upon  the  splendid  view  before  him. 
The  sun  was  swinging  close  to  the  Canadian  horizon, 
and  Clayburgh  was  crimsoned  with  its  autumn  glory. 
The  water  was  on  fire.     With  every  ripple  and°wave 


6 


aOLITAUY   ISLAND. 


red  sparks  and  flames  seoniod  to  shoot  into  the  air, 
the  smoky  woods  lending  to  the  illusion.  It  was 
neither  chilly  nor  warm.  A  pleasant  mean  prevailed 
in  the  air.  and  so  soi'tly  did  tlie  colors  of  dying  day 
blena  with  those  of  the  coming  night  that  he  who 
sat  there  was  unmindful  of  the  passing  hours.  His 
gaze  Avandored  from  one  feature  of  the  scene  to 
another,  and  its  placidity  was  reflected  in  the  repose 
of  his  body,  in  his  gentle  breathing,  and  in  the  pen- 
sive expression  of  his  face.  His  general  appearance 
was  not  that  of  one  gifted  with  many  of  the  finer 
human  instincts.  A  blue  shirt,  gray  breeches,  un- 
dressed shoes,  cap  and  leggings,  all  of  very  coarse 
material,  made  up  his  costume  ;  his  skin  was  tough- 
ened and  browned  by  years  of  exposure,  and  a  curly 
red  l)eard  covered  the  lower  part  of  the  face.  The 
rifle  at  liis  side,  and  the  fishing  tackle  in  his  canoe 
indicated  the  sportsman.  Yet  there  was  more  about 
him,  as  there  is  about  every  man,  than  even  second 
glances  would  discover.  His  light  hair  and  red  beard 
were  of  a  very  fine  texture,  his  hands  were  shapely, 
his  features  delicately  cut,  and  his  blue  eyes,  if  a 
little  too  keen  in  their  glance,  were  sympathetic  and 
expressive ;  but  his  skin  cap  hid  hair  and  face,  and 
tanned  complexion  and  rough  costume  hid  much 
more  from  curious  eyes.  As  he  looked  at  the  dis- 
tant village  bathed  in  sunset  fire  he  muttered  to  him- 
self, and  not  seldom  the  unheeded  tears  fell  down  his 
cheek. 

"  Ah,  friend  Scott,  dreaming,  hey  ? " 

A  rough  voice  came  from  below,  where  a  fat,  half- 
naked  man  was  just  rising  from  the  water. 

Scott  looked  down  quietly. 


FLIGHT. 


"  You  had  quite  a  swim  of  it,  PenTton,"  he  siiid, 
without  moving.  "•  Thought  you  couldn't  hev  got 
here  for  a  good  liour  yet." 

"  The  devil ! ''  growled  Pendleton,  shaking  himself 
like  a  dog  and  swinging  his  naked  arms  to  take  off 
the  chill.  "  You're  a  nice  man,  to  allow  me  to  swim 
all  the  wav,  and  your  boat  so  handv  I  I'm  chilled 
through.  Why  didn't  you  shout  when  you  saw  me 
coming  'i " 

"  Didn't  know  you  were  comin'  till  I  saw  you  half- 
way over,  Squire.     Did  you  want  to  see  me  T' 

"  Did  I  want  to  see  you  ? "  sneered  the  Sc^uire  as 
he  rummaged  the  canoe.  "  No ;  I  want  to  see  your 
whiskey  bottle — haven't  any,  confound  ye  !  Pm  a 
likely  man  to  leave  my  clothes  on  the  island  and 
swim  this  far,  and  do  it  all  for  nothing.  Look  at 
me,"  he  said,  as  he  began  to  mount  the  natural  steps, 
"  and  ask  that  question  again." 

"  It's  a  strange  fix  for  you,  Pen'l'ton,"  said  Scott, 
amused.  "  You're  not  runnin'  away  from  the  law, 
maybe  i " 

"  Yes,  I  am  running  away  from  the  law,"  answered 
the  Squire,  shaking  his  fist  at  Clay  burgh.  "  Blame 
'em !  they  haven't  left  me  a  place  this  side  of  France 
or  South  America  to  hide  in.  They  are  after  my 
head,  man ;  they've  offered  a  reward — to  any  man, 
woman,  child  or  jackass  that  will  present  'em  with 
me,  dead  or  alive,  or  with  my  head." 

"I  heard  somethin' "  began  the  hunter. 

"  Of  course  you  did.  Ther'  all  talking  about  it-- 
about  the  fool  Pendleton,  who  sided  with  Mackenzie, 
another  fool,  and  helped  him  to  get  justice  for  Cana- 
dians, and  now  has  two    governments  after  him. 


8 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


i 


Well,  I'm  the  man,  and  I've  come  to  you  for  help  ; 
nobody  else  wants  to  give  it." 

"  I'm  glad  you  lit  on  me,Squire,"  Scott  b'^^.^n  again. 

"  Oh !  are  you  ? "  sneered  the  Squire,  nettled  by  the 
tone.  "  Wait  till  you  hear  the  whole  of  it.  '  Any 
man  who  harbors,  assists,  feeds,  etc.,  Squire  Pendle- 
ton goes  to  jail  along  with  him  when  he's  caught.' 
How  do  you  like  that,  liey  ? " 

Scott  was  silent  and  turned  his  gaze  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  town,  whose  spires  alone  now  caught  the 
reflection  of  the  sun's  last  rays.  Pendleton  evidently 
did  not  expect  this  action  on  the  hunter's  part,  and 
he  grew  uneasy  and  angry.  A  half-sigh  escaped  him, 
for  his  position  was  really  one  of  peri),  and  there 
were  others  interested  in  his  fate  whom  his  capture 
would  affect  bitterly. 

"  I  don't  wish  to  bring  any  one  into  trouble,  Scott," 
he  hastened  to  say,  "  and  I'm  not  going  to  do  it 
for  you.  But  knowing  these  islands  as  you  do,  I 
thought  you  could  show  me  some  hiding-place  that 
would  give  me  refuge  until  I  can  leave  the  country. 
For  they'll  not  catch  me — no,  not  if  I  have  to  swim 
to  the  Bay  of  Biscay." 

There  was  no  answ^er  from  Scott,  and  his  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  miles  away  from  the  Squire's  affairs. 
Pendleton  stood  for  a  momei.  *  irresolute,  and  then 
hastily  descended  the  steps  and  jumped  into  the 
canoe. 

"  You're  like  the  rest,"  he  murmured.  "  There's 
not  a  man  among  the  whole  crew.  Well,  you  can 
meditate  there  for  the  rest  of  the  night  or  swim  for 
it.  I'm  going  to  make  this  my  property."  He 
attempted  to  cut  the  rope  of  the  canoe,  when  by  a 


FLIGHT. 


9 


dexterous  jerk  Scott  upset  the  boat  and  the  Squire 
went  into  the  water  headlong.  A3  he  rose  splutter- 
ing the  hunter  was  engaged  in  rescuing  his  floating 
tackle. 

"  Foolin'  with  governments  is  dangerous,"  said  he, 
"an'  it's  natural  to  think  I  don't  want  to  get  mixed 
up  in  your  evil  doin's.  But  then  I'm  not  goin'  back 
on  ye,  Squire,  not  if  I  know  it,  even  though  my  head 
was  concerned,  which  it  isn't,  for  in  this  country  they 
don't  go  quite  so  much  on  the  head-choppin'  as  I've 
heard  tell  of  in  other  countries.  T  \'in  lind  a  place 
for  ye,  p'raps.  It  mayn't  be  mucl:  to  your  likin', 
for  beds  are  scarce,  an'  furniture  has  to  grow  of 
itself  thar.  But  vo  I'll  hev  th(  oun  to  call  ,e  at  six 
•  'clock,  an'  stars  will  see  ve  to  bed  uad  watch  over 
ye  all  right  along  with  the  sin^.n'  o'  the  water. 
Squire,  them's  my  comforts.'' 

"  They  agree  with  you  mightily,"  murmurc'^'  Pen- 
dleton, who  was  now  rather  subdued.  Having  put 
his  boat  in  order,  Scott  invited  his  companion  to 
enter  and  was  surprised  to  receive  a  cold  and 
emphatic  refusal. 

"  I've  got  a  new  idea  from  that  ducking,"  he  said 
gloomily,  "  and  I'm  going  to  follow  it  out.  Good- 
bye ;  thanks  for  your  offer."  And  he  plunged  into 
the  water  again,  only  to  be  pulled  out  almost  roughly 
by  a  strong,  impatient  hand. 

"  This,"  said  the  Squire,  purpling,  "  is " 

"  Common  sense — nothin'  less,  Pen'l'ton,"  was  the 
firm,  severe  interruption.  "  Don't  ye  think  I  know 
more  about  this  business  uf  yours  than  to  let  you 
walk  right  smack  into  the  hands  of  the  officers  ? 
What'r  you  thinkin'  of  ?     What  about  Euth  ? " 


10 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  Yes,  yes,  you're  riglit,"  the  other  answered 
hastily.  "I'm  a  fool.  Poor  Ruth  I  Goon.  I'll  go 
to  the  devil,  if  you  say  so." 

Scott  pointed  to  the  boat,  in  which  the  Squire 
penitently  took  his  seat. 

"  Shall  we  go  for  your  clothes  ? " 

"  Let  'em  stay  there.  If  they  think  me  drowned, 
so  much  the  better." 

Scott  pushed  off  and  took  his  coui'se  eastward. 
The  sun  had  set,  and  heavy  clouds  had  closed  like 
prison-gcites  on  his  glories.  A  thin  mist  was  rising 
from  the  marshy  shores.  The  silence  of  coming 
night  was  scarcely  disturbed  by  the  dip  of  the  paddle 
and  the  cry  of  the  wild  duck  in  the  distance. 

"  They'll  not  see  our  course,"  Pendleton  said,  half 
to  himself,  "  and  Ruth  will  be  satisfied.     Poor  Ruth ! " 

Scott  did  not  hear  him.  His  eyes  were  fixed,  as 
usual,  on  the  scenes  around  him,  and  reflected  more 
than  ever  the  emotions  of  his  simple  heart.  These 
must  have  been  very  pleasant  then,  for  his  face  was 
lit  up  by  a  happy  smile. 


CHAPTER  II. 


MARRIAGE. 


About  the  hour  which  saw  Squire  Pendleton  puff- 
ing through  the  chilly  waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
Clayburgh's  young  and  rising  lawyer  sat  in  his  office, 
wondering  what  had  become  of  the  chief  figure  in 
the  social  and  political  life  of  the  village.  The  office 
window  commanded  a  view  of  the  river  and  its  isl- 
ands, and  Mr.  Wallace  with  the  aid  of  a  glass  could 
have  witnessed  the  scene  between  the  Squire  and  the 
friendly  fisherman.  But  his  thoughts  were  just  then 
given  to  himself.  He  had  a  bright  future  ])efore 
him,  and  he  was  surveying  it  with  the  enchanted 
telescope  of  the  mind.  Ilis  youthful  history  had 
not  one  cloud,  not  one  error,  not  one  ill-success  in  it. 
Everything  he  had  done  from  childhood  up  had  been 
done  well.  His  townsmen  flattered  him,  and  took 
pride  in  his  abilities.  His  family  adored  him.  Good 
offers  were  made  to  him  bv  legal  firms  in  the  larger 
cities,  but  work  in  his  native  village  was  plentiful 
and  profitable,  if  not  suited  to  develop  a  great  mind. 
All  his  affairs  were  in  good  condition.  He  had 
health,  strength,  money,  and  good  looks.  His  per- 
sonal gifts  were  numerous,  and  not  all  of  them  were 
known  even  to  himself.  He  was  generous,  yet  cool- 
minded  and  prudent ;  passionate,  yet  thoroughly  self- 
puled.    He  had  given  his  heart  to  the  keeping  of 

11 


12 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Squire  Pen  Jleton's  daughter,  a  lul  she  had  accepted  the 
trust  almost,  and  half-promised  to  become  his  wife. 
Once  they  were  married  he  would  go  to  New  York, 
and  settling  down  to  hard  work  would  aim  for  the 
very  highest  things  that  a  man  might  attain  to  in  a 
life-time.  AVhat  they  were  he  hardly  knew;  but 
the  path  of  sunlit  water,  which  lay  before  him  as  far 
as  he  could  see,  was  not  so  rosy  as  the  path  of  glory 
along  which  his  dreams  conducted  him  to  the  pin- 
nacle of  fame.  It  intoxicated  him  to  think  of  these 
things.  lie  thought  it  a  sign  of  his  secret  and  untried 
ability  that  he  could  dream  so,  whereas  it  was  only 
the  product  of  a  good  and  young  constitution,  an 
ambitious  soul,  and  an  overpowering  vanity. 

"  Not  one  trouble  in  the  world,"  said  Florian, "  and 
not  one  obstacle  in  sight  that  amounts  to  anything. 
I  am  a  lucky  man." 

Yet,  just  at  that  moment,  so  rosy,  so  hopeful,  his 
ill-luck  gave  a  soft,  imperative  tap  at  the  office  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Florian. 

The  parish  priest  entered,  Florian's  friend  and  sec- 
ond father,  who  took  as  much  pride  in  the  boy, — and 
more  perhaps, — as  any  good  father  would.  For  he 
had  trained  him  in  childhood,  and  guided  his  young 
manhood,  and  it  was  from  him  that  Florian  had 
learned  his  severe  adhesion  to  religious  principle,  and 
strict  literary  tastes.  His  short,  stout  body  was 
dressed  in  a  clerical  costume  of  the  time,  his  face  clean 
shaven,  rosy  in  color,  and  very  reserved  in  expres- 
sion. There  was  no  asceticism  in  his  appearance. 
His  manners  were  brusque.  He  said  little,  and 
smiled  rarely,  but  in  all  that  he  did  and  said  and 
looked  there  was  that  odd,  indefinable  something 


MARRIAGE. 


13 


which  proclaims  a  man  who  differs  from  the  major- 
ity of  men. 

"  No  news  of  the  Squire,"  said  Pere  Rouge vin. 

"  Not  a  word,"  replied  Florian.  "  I  have  no  doubt 
if  we  let  him  alone,  or  if  the  government  detectives 
go  away  he  will  come  back  soon  enough.  His  rheu- 
matism is  not  the  sort  of  baggage  for  a  political 
exile." 

"  Miss  Ruth  is  anxious  about  him." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,  but  there  is  little  need  for 
anxiety.    If  there  were " 

He  hesitated  and  the  priest  added  : 

"  You  would  make  things  fly  to  settle  her  fears. 
How  does  the  New  York  idea  develop  ?  " 

"  So,  so,  father,"  said  Florian.  "  Let  us  say  two 
months  from  now,  for  the  finish." 

And  he  went  on  to  picture  the  results  leading  up 
to  his  departure,  until  he  saw  the  ambiguous  smile 
which  touched  the  priest's  lips  and  instantly 
faded. 

"  Well,"  said  he, "  what  do  you  smile  at  ?  Do  you 
think  me  too  hopeful  ? " 

"  There  are  no  hindrances  in  your  way  ? "  said  the 
priest,  in  a  questioning  tone. 

"  "Well,  none  that  I  can  see." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  the  priest 
walked  to  tho  window  as  if  he  had  dismissed  the 
subject. 

"  Are  you  going  home  to  supper  ? "  he  said. 

"  Now  I  am  sure,"  interrupted  Florian, "  that  you 
see  something  in  the  way,  if  I  don't,  and  I  must  ask 
you,  P6re  Rougevin,  to  tell  me  of  it." 

"  I  thought  you  knew  all  worth  knowing  concern- 


rv 


14 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Ill 


I 


ing  your  own  affairs. — But  then,  you  are  quite  cer- 
tain of  Ruth's  conversion  to  the  faith  ? " 

"  Ah  1 "  said  Florian,  struck  dumb  with  a  sudden 
fear. 

"  I  can  say  no  more,"  the  priest  went  on.  "  I 
have  known  Miss  Pendleton  since  she  was  a  child. 
She  has  been  brought  up  loosely  in  matters  of  relig- 
ion, but  her  tastes  and  feelings  are  religious.  She 
knows  something  about  us,  and  is  quite  used  to  our 
ways.  She  is  very  conscientious.  I  cannot  say  that 
she  takes  to  Catholicity." 

It  was  a  long  speech  for  the  priest  to  make,  and 
he  at  once  dismissed  the  entire  matter  by  taking  up 
another  subject  of  conversation.  But  Florian  was 
really  frightened. 

"  Pere,"  said  he,  "  I  can't  think  or  talk  of  any- 
thing but  what  you  have  just  told  me.  "When  you 
speak  of  a  thing  there  is  always  something  to  it. 
AVhat  am  I  to_  do  ?  I'm  not  a  fool.  I  cannot  live 
without  Ruth.  I  do  not  believe  in  mixed  marriages. 
But  it  would  be  as  bitter  as  death  to  give  her  up 
just  when  I  had  made  myself  believe  it  was  all  right." 

"  One  should  not  make  himself  believe  it  was  all 
right,"  said  the  priest. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  the  lawyer  impatiently  an- 
swered. "  But  liow  many  are  so  careful  as  that. 
Ruth  and  I  were  brought  up  together.  I  am  sure  she 
has  a  high  regard  for  me " 

"  You  do  well  to  put  it  that  way." 

"  What !  you  think  she  has  no  other  feeling  for 
me  but  regard  ?  " 

The  priest  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Florian,  "  if  it  be  true  that  she  can- 


•^ 


I 

I 


MARRIAGE. 


15 


not  in  conscience  Ijecome  a  Catholic,  then  it's  all 
over  between  us.  But  I  am  not  going  to  believo 
that.     I  will  see  for  myself.     I  cannot  believe  it." 

''  Do,"  said  Pere  Rougevin.  "  It  will  be  better 
for  you." 

And  hastily  bidding  the  young  lawyer  good-day 
he  went  out  quickly.  Florian  knitted  his  brows 
and  fell  to  thinking.  It  Avas  not  safe  to  have  too 
rosy  a  future  to  dream  on.  Ten  minutes  ago  he 
could  not  find  an  obstacle  in  his  path,  and  now 
Ruth  was  on  the  very  point  of  departing  from 
him.  Tie  was  bound  not  to  give  her  up  easily. 
The  young  man  was  practical  in  his  love  as  in 
his  business.  He  had  not  that  abandonment  of 
feeling  which  brooks  no  possible  danger  of  losing 
the  object  of  his  feeling.  lie  knew  that  death,  or 
conscience,  or  a  change  of  heart  might  at  any  mo- 
ment step  between  him  and  the  woman  he  loved, 
and  so  he  did  not  say,  "  I  shall  never  give  her  up," 
but  instead, "  I  shall  not  give  lier  up  easily," —  a  good 
and  prudent  restriction  to  put  upon  his  determina- 
tion. He  sat  thinking  until  the  sun  disappeared 
behind  the  islands,  and  then  it  occurred  to  him  that 
this  new  and  unexpected  trouble  which  had  come 
upon  him  would  surely  be  followed  by  others.  "  It 
never  rains  but  it  pours."  It  would  be  a  good 
thing  to  see  Ruth  at  once,  and  have  an  understand- 
ing with  her  that  would  prove  the  Pere  mistaken, 
and  it  might  keep  off  other  troubles.  He  seized  his 
hat,  when  a  second  knock  sounded  on  the  door.  For 
a  moment  he  was  tempted  to  jump  out  of  the  win- 
dow; then  smiling  at  his  own  fancies  he  bade  the 
visitor  enter.     The  Rev.  Dunstan  Buck  was  not  a 


f^mmm 


T 


16 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


visitor  or  client  of  Florian's,  and  therefore  he  did 
not  wonder  at  the  slight  start  which  the  lawyer 
gave  on  seeing  him.  The  young  man  was  not  so 
much  surprised  at  his  visit  as  at  the  circumstance  of 
two  clergymen  following  each  other  into  his  office. 
Mr.  Buck  was  invited  to  a  seat,  and  took  it  nervously. 
His  over-elegant  appearance  made  the  little  office 
look  dingy,  for  as  the  minister  of  a  very  High  Church 
congregation,  he  found  it  necessary  to  look  and  dress 
as  if  every  moment  had  seen  him  put  on  a  new 
suit,  bathe,  shave,  and  say  prayers.  He  was  for  all 
that  a  gentle-minded  and  good-hearted  man. 

"  I  may  have  made  a  blunder  in  coming  to  you," 
he  began  with  his  glasses  fixed  on  the  lawyer,  "  but 
I  really  did  not  see  to  what  member  of  the  family 
I  could  address  myself.  Your  father,  unhappily, 
does  not  take  to  the  town  ministers,  and  I  am  aware 
that  Catholics  are  very  strict  about  these  things, 
but  in  short,  Mr.  Wallace,  I  have  a  high  esteem 
for  your  sister  Sara,  and  I  would  like  to  pay  her  my 
addresses." 

The  lawyer's  response  was  prompt  and  nicely- 
worded,  but  the  surprise  he  felt  could  not  be  put 
into  words. 

"  Has  Miss  "Wallace  any  suspicion  of  your  feelings 
towards  her  ? "  he  asked. 

"  I  told  her  that  I  intended  to  speak  to  you,"  said 
the  minister.  "  She  made  no  serious  objections,  but 
seemed  to  dread  it." 

"Of  course,  her  own  wishes  are  the  chief  thing  to 
be  looked  at,"  replied  Florian.  "  But  I  may  as  well 
warn  you,  Mr.  Buck,  that  you  are  going  to  meet 
with  bitter  opposition.    Father  and  mother,  Pere 


MARRIAGE. 


17 


» 


^elings 


\mg  to 

1,8  well 

meet 

Pere 


"Rougevin,  my  sister  Linda  and  myself  cannot  favor 
you  at  all.  You  know  very  well  that  my  sister  will 
become  a  Protestant  in  marrying  you,  something 
which  no  Catholic  can  think  of  with  pleasure.  At 
the  same  time,  I  am  sure  your  conduct  in  doing 
nothing  secretly  is  that  of  a  gentleman.  But  I  wish 
I  could  persuade  you  to  look  elsewhere  for  a  wife." 

Mr.  Buck  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  I  cannot 
promise  you,"  he  said.  "  I  hoped  that  perhaps  you 
might  persuade  your  family " 

"  This  is  the  situation,  Mr.  Buck,"  Florian  politely 
broke  in.  "You  know  my  father.  If  he  thought 
you  were  courting  Miss  Sara,  your  life  and  hers 
would  be  made  miserable  and  notorious  in  the  village. 
I  could  not  change  him  even  if  I  would." 

Rev.  Mr.  Buck  rose  hastily. 

"  I  see, — I  understand,"  he  said.  "  I  wished  to  do 
everything  honorably.  You  will  not  blame  me  if 
anything  should  occur  contrary  to  your  wishes." 

"Certainly  not.  I  am  greatly  obliged  by  your 
candor,"  said  Florian  as  he  bowed  him  out ;  "  but 
ril  take  good  care  that  nothing  occurs  contrary  to 
those  wishes,"  he  added  when  his  visitor  was  gone, 
leaving  a  faint  scent  of  the  perfume  bottle  in  the  air. 
Supper  that  evening  in  the  Wallace  dining-room 
was  a  dull,  even  threatening  affair.  When  it  was 
finished  Sara  at  a  sign  from  her  brother  followed 
him  into  the  little  room  he  called  his  study.  One 
window  only  admitted  the  light,  and  had  painted 
on  its  narrow  panes  a  waterview,  with  pine-fringed 
islands  and  the  north-west  sky  for  a  background. 
Florian  motioned  his  sister  to  a  chair.  She  was 
pale  but  calm  and  obstinate-looking.     Her  face  had 


( 


18 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


set  itself  in  a  cold,  hard  expression  which  did  not 
daunt  the  youth,  but  rendered  hira  uneasy. 

"  I  was  a  little  surprised  to-day ■'  he  began. 

"  You  alvrays  arc,"  she  retorted,  without  looking 
at  him. 

"  To  have  a  visit  from  Mr.  Buck.  It  seemed  to  be 
understood  that  Mr.  Buck  was  an  accepted  suitor  of 
yours,  and  that  before  long  matrimony  would  make 
a  convert  to  Protestantism  where  conviction  could 
not." 

"  Well,  Avhat  of  it  ?  Is  Mr.  Buck  less  a  gentleman 
because  he  is  a  minister " 

"  Excuse  me  if  I  do  not  argue  that  point,"  her 
brother  interrupted.  "  Mr.  Buck  is  a  gentleman, 
thoufi'li  a  little  shallow  and  sometimes  sillv.  What 
I  desire  to  know  is,  have  you  given  any  reason  to 
others  to  talk  of  you  in  this  way  ?  " 

"  And  if  I  have,  am  I  bound  to  tell  vou  of  it  ?  " 

"You  misunderstand  mc,  Sara,"  he  said  gently. 
"  I  am  not  your  master,  but  your  brother,  and  I  ask 
the  question,  not  because  you  are  bound  to  answer 
it,  but  because  it  will  be  better  for  you  to  do  so." 

"  Well,  people  will  talk,"  she  replied  lightly.  "  I 
have  never  given  him  the  slightest  encouragement." 

"  Why,  then,  should  he  come  to  me  ? "  Florian 
persisted.  "  Are  you  sure  that  you  have  not  even 
though  I  of  encouraging  him.  May  not  some  of  your 
actions  which  you  thought  light  and  unmeaning 
have  given  him  reason  to  think " 

"  I  won't  ansAver  any  more,"  she  said,  bridling. 
"  Wh}',  one  would  think  I  was  in  a  witness-box, 
sworn  to  tell  my  every  thought  to  you.  It's  worse 
than  the  Inquisition  ? " 


I 


MARRIAGE. 


19 


"  Than  the  Inquisition !  "  repeated  Florian  in  as- 
tonishment. "  I'orhaps  it  might  bo  worse  than  that, 
if  the  matter  comes  to  father's  ears.'' 

Sara's  lips  cpiivered  at  tiiis  implied  threat,  and  the 
tears  filled  her  eyes.  They  were  tears  of  spite,  not 
of  grief. 

"  You  are  mean  enough  to  tell  him,"  and  her  voice 
trembled  despite  her  pride.  "  I  am  persecuted  every- 
Avhere.     Xo  one  seems  to  care  for  me." 

"  It  is  just  because  Ave  care  for  you,  all  of  us,  that 
we  troulde  you  so  much.  Is  it  no  pain  to  us  that 
you  should  marry  a  Protestant  minister  and  be  lost 
to  the  faith  ?  " 

She  broke  into  fitful  sobbing.  Florian  walked  to 
the  Avindow  and  looked  out  gloomily  on  the  scene. 
She  dried  her  eyes  at  length,  and  proceeded  from  tears 
to  frowns. 

"  I  won't  stand  this  persecution  any  longer,"  she 
said  rising.  "  You  maA^tell  every  one,  you  may  tell 
the  wrinkled  old  bore  vonder " — she  alluded  to  her 
father — "  you  may  tell  the  world ;  but  I  shall  do  as  I 
please,  and  u  you  attempt  any  more  of  this  I  have 
at  least  one  refuge  open  to  me." 

"  Then  it  is  true,"  said  her  brother,  with  ominous 
quiet  in  his  voice. 

"  You  can  believe  it,  if  you  wish  to,"  and  she  at- 
tempted to  leave  the  room,  but  he  stood  between  her 
and  the  tloor,  with  so  stern  a  face  that  she  grew 
frightened  again. 

"  You  must  remember,"  he  said,  "  that  this  is  no 
child's  play,  and  that  until  you  satisfy  me  one  way 
or  another  as  to  what  you  have  done  in  this  matter 
your  life  will  be  twice  as  unpleasant  as  you  say  it 


20 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


I 


has  been.  Your  fatlior  shall  know  of  it  at  once,  the 
priest  shall  hear  it  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  'Mr. 
Buck  shall  receive  a  warning.  Now  you  can  take 
your  choice — make  a  clean  breast  of  what  you  know 
or  prepare  to  suffer." 

She  walked  over  to  the  window  for  a  moment 
and  burst  out  weeping  again.  Iler  brother,  stern 
as  he  looked,  felt  a  sudden  pang  and  sighed. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  thought,  "and,  worse  than  all,  she 
cares  for  him." 

There  was  a  long  silence  until  Sara  had  dried  her 
tears  once  more  and  was  calm  enough  to  speak. 
Her  first  words  showed  that  she  had  become  reason- 
able. 

"  You  make  me  suffer  for  nothing,"  she  said. 

"  I  suffer  myself  much  more,"  he  replied.  "  You 
are  too  dear  to  me  that  I  should  look  on  you  throw- 
ing yourself  into  an  abyss,  and  not  feel  troublerl. 
Have  you  no  pity  for  us  who  love  you  'i  Do  you 
not  know  that  our  grief  would  be  less  hopeless,  less 
keen,  to  see  you  dead  than  to  see  you  the  wife  of 
this  man  ?  Dead,  you  ^^'ould  be  still  ours ;  living 
and  his  wife,  our  separation  would  be  eternal.  Sara, 
think  for  a  moment  and  you  will  see  your  folly." 

"  I  haven't  been  guilty  of  any  folly.  Mr.  Buck 
was  foolish  enough  to  pay  his  addresses  to  me,  but 
I  never  encouraged  him,  never  responded  even. 
And,   since    you    wish    it,   I'll    not    look    at    him 


agam 


)) 


I' 


"  Thank  you,"  said  Florian,  but  he  was  not  at  all 
satisfied.  Sara  thought  that  her  last  speech  was 
exceedingly  frank,  and  truthful  enough  in  appearance 
to  deceive  her  brother,  but  her  face  was  not  reassur- 


MARRIAGE. 


21 


ing.  He  saw  no  sincerity  there,  only  tlie  assump- 
tion of  sincerity,  and  went  away  sad,  to  join  Linda 
outside,  while  Sara,  after  making  a  face  at  hini  as  he 
retired,  hurried  away  to  her  own  room  and  a  new 
novel.  Linda  was  standing  Avhere  the  sun  could  fall 
on  her  face  through  a  veil  of  green  leaves,  and  peer- 
ing down  on  the  river. 

"  Well,"  said  Linda,  "  what  did  she  say  ? " 

"  Nothing ;  neither  admitted  nor  denied,  but  fussed 
a  good  deal,  wept  and  defied  me,  and  v:ound  up  by 
declaring  that  slio  was  innocent  and  would  never  do 
it  again." 

"  I  wish  we  could  believe  her." 

"  And  don't  you  ?  "  he  said  reproachfully. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  think  I  do  not.  Sara  is  not  very 
truthful.  "While  you  are  here  it  may  do  very  well ; 
when  you  are  gone " 

"  I  am  not  gone  yet,"  he  said  when  she  hesitated. 

"  This  incident  may  hinder  your  going.  I  hope 
it  will.  I  would  be  tempted  to  favor  Mr.  Buck,  if 
it  would." 

"  Be  reasonable,  child.  We  must  all  part  one  day, 
and  why  not  now,  when  health  and  youth  belong  to 
us?  Separation  is  to  be  expected,  and  has  hap- 
pened to  so  many  families  that  we  should  not  wonder 
if  it  happens  to  ours." 

"  No  one  wonders  ;  one  only  grieves.  I  know  just 
what  thoughts  actuate  you,  Florian,  and  they  aston- 
ish me.     You  are  too  ambitious." 

"  It  is  '  the  failing  of  great  minds,'  "  he  quoted, 
smiling.  She  shook  her  head  sadly  and  turned 
her  eyes  on  the  river,  now  dusky  under  twilight's 
shadow. 


22 


SOLITAIIY   ISLAND. 


"  Look  at  it,"  she  said.  "  Wliat  a  fine  spot  to  live 
and  die  in." 

"  Sometimes  \  have  thought  it  too,"  he  replied 
musingly.  "  I  know  every  feature  of  the  place  so 
well,  and  the  idea  of  living  sixty  quiet  yeais  among 
the  same  scenes  is  pleasing.  What  a  placid  face, 
what  an  imlrouhled  heart,  an  old  man  would  have 
after  six  decades  I  lie  would  naturally  graduate 
into  eternity  then.  A  dream  I  Impossible  I  The 
soul  was  made  for  action.     I  couldn't  think  of  it." 

He  jmnped  up  in  his  eagerness,  and  noticed  that 
his  sister  had  burst  into  tears.  The  next  moment 
she  laughed. 

"  That  is  the  end  of  it,  Florian.  You  have  pro- 
nounced the  separation  of  our  famil}'^ :  you  to  poli- 
tics, Sara  to  Mr.  Buck,  and  myself  to " 

"  The  prince,  of  coui'se ;  and  you  will  find  that 
such  changes,  though  bitter,  leave  a  honey  in  their 
wound.  Come,  get  your  cloak  and  hat,  and  we  shall 
walk." 

Linda  was  glad  to  hide  her  confusion  at  his  last 
words,  and  ran  away  to  prepare  herself. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  said,  as  they  went  down  the  hill 
to  the  bay,  "  that  Sara  did  not  think  of  throwing 
Ruth  Pendleton  at  you  in  reproaching  her  for  en- 
couraging Mr.  Buck." 

"  It  is  a  Avonder,"  replied  Florian ;  "  she  is  so — 
well,  she  knows  I  would  not  marry  Ruth  if  there 
was  not  a  prospect  of  her  conversion." 

"  And  wouldn't  vou  'i  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  question,  Linda? "  he  said, 
looking  down  at  her  serious  face. 

"  I  thought,  you  know — that  is,  I  heird  you  extol 


MARIIIAOE. 


28 


tho  power  of  lovo  so  ol'ton,  an«l — well,  tho  thought 
doesn't  coino  to  me.  T  mean  wouklirt  it  hurt  you  a 
little  to  give  her  up " 

"  If  slie  didn't  become  a  Catholic  after  all  \  Yes, 
it  would  hurt  me.'' 

They  walked  along  in  silence  for  a  time. 

"  Ituth  is  so  Quakerish,  so  thoughtful,  and  so 
determined,"  said  Linda.  "If  she  couldn't  feel 
convinced,  she  wouldn't  become  a  Catholic — not  for 
twentv  Florians." 

"  Her  liighest  praise,  that.  I  would  never  have 
giwiU  her  my  lieart  otherwise.  If  my  wife  is  to  be 
a  Catholic  she  shall  be  a  good  one." 

"  But  just  think,  Florian,  if  she  didn't  believe !  " 

"  You  are  bound  to  think  disagreeaMe  things  to- 
night," he  said  laughing, ''  hut  let  us  work  on  the  if. 
In  that  case  Ruth  and  I  would  part  and  there  ^vould 
be  an  end  to  it." 

"  A  cool  description  of  a  hot  affair,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  know,  the  Pore  gave  me  a  friglit  on  this 
matter  not  more  than  two  hours  past.  He  thinks 
Ruth  will  not  become  a  Catholic." 

"  It  has  often  occurred  to  me,"  she  replied  with 
spirit ;  "  nor  would  I,  were  I  a  Protestjint,  for  the 
sake  of  getting  a  husband." 

The  nv?xt  minute  she  laughed  at  his  indignant 
face,  and  made  an  apology. 

"  No,  no,  Flory,  you  may  be  sure  I  did  not  mean 
that.  Ruth  has  too  good  a  heart,  too  strong  a  prin- 
ciple to  do  such  a  silly  thing.  She's  in  trouble  now 
over  her  poor  father.  You  ought  to  go  and  comfort 
her." 

He  was  not  very  enthusiastic  in  taking  the  offer, 


'^^m^n^fmmmmmmi^vm 


I 


^ 


24 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


but  at  all  events  he  must  know  sometliing  definite 
about  her  change  of  religious  convictions  before  that 
night  passed. 

<'  I  think  I  will  go,"  he  said.  They  were  standing 
on  the  river  shore,  and  his  boat  lay  ready  a  few  feet 
ttway.     Linda  pushed  him  into  it. 

"  Try  to  make  her  promise  to-night,"  she  said,  as 
he  rowed  off,  "  and  here's  good  luck  to  you." 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE  ISLAND. 


Squire  Pendleton's  dwelling  stood  a  mile  from 
the  village  on  the  south  side  of  the  bay,  and  was  the 
first  object  which  he  saw  that  afternoon  from  the 
little  island.  The  mistress  of  the  house,  at  the 
same  moment  that  her  father  looked  with  moist 
eyes  upon  his  home,  was  pacing  sadly  the  veranda 
which  ran  along  the  east  side  of  the  building ;  while 
Florian  was  listening  to  the  priest's  painful  remarks 
about  her  religious  inclinations  she  was  still  restlessly 
walking  there ;  and  yet  later,  when  Linda  urged  her 
brother  to  visit  her  and  he  had  put  off  from  the 
shore,  she  had  not  left  the  veranda  nor  lost  her 
nervousness.  She  had  been  in  deep  trouble  ever 
since  her  father  had  been  involved  in  the  unluckv 
rebellion.  His  night-and-day  journeying  to  escape 
the  officers,  the  exposure  w^hich  an  old  man  must 
suffer  from  considerably,  the  accidents  which  might 
happen  to  him,  kept  her  in  a  state  of  nervous  dread. 

Miss  Pendleton  was  a  very  womanly  young  creat- 
ure, of  an  original  turn  of  mind,  and  a  very  ])lain 
address.  The  best  point  in  her  character  was,  she 
thought  very  little  of  herself.  While  her  father  was 
hurried  on  by  the  devil  of  delusion  and  Florian  was 
racked  at  the  thought  of  losing  her,  and  Linda  wept 

over  the  chance  of  her   non-conversion,  she  alone 

25 


1: 


Uj: 


26 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


thought  of  nothing  but  the  foolish  father  taking  his 
risks  of  exposure  and  consequent  sickness.  She  had 
a  single  eye  for  her  duty,  and  the  truth.  ITor  own 
risks  did  not  present  themselves  to  her  considera- 
tion. It  was  this  one  quality  that  had  Avon  for  Ruth 
the  tender  love  of  Linda,  llie  regard  of  Pere  Rouge- 
vin,  and  the  devotion  of  Florian. 

It  happened  at  the  s;irae  time  that  she  was  well 
read  and  clever,  that  her  complexion  was  good  and 
her  eyes  large  and  expressive,  and  that  she  had  ma- 
tronly ideas  as  to  a  young  woman's  dress,  speech, 
and  behavior.  The  habit  of  ruling  the  Squire,  and 
looking  after  him  had  made  her  a  responsible  being. 
She  was  the  mother  of  her  own  household  at  sixteen, 
and  could  have  ruled  and  guided  many  a  one  as  old  as 
herself.  Florian  had  reason  to  be  troubled  over  the 
prospect  of  losing  her.  She  loved  the  truth,  and 
seemed  to  have  little  trouble  in  following  it.  He 
often  smiled  as  he  thouo-ht  with  Avhat  g-entle  but  final 
persistence  Ruth  would  push  him  and  the  whole 
world  aside  if  thev  stood  betAveen  her  and  the  truth. 

Thinking  of  these  things  as  he  rowed  across  the 
bay  he  finally  lost  courage.  He  Avould  not  press 
her  to  a  final  decision  that  night.  A  little  strategy 
and  tact  ought  to  be  used  even  Avith  so  sincere  a 
Avoman.  A  soft  Avind  was  rising,  and  the  mist  that 
floated  on  the  Avater  Avas  shaken  apart  to  let  the 
stars  shine  through.  Growing  stronger  it  made 
great  rents  in  the  mist,  Avhich  remained  open  long 
enough  to  shoAv  the  dark  mass  of  an  island  and  the 
lights  on  shore. 

"  I  am  so  glad  youhaA'^e  come !  "  cried  a  soft  A'oice 
from  the  shore,  almost  before  he  touched  it.     He 


THE   ISLAND. 


27 


jumped  out,  drew  u\)  the  boat,  and  clasped  the  hand 
outstretched  to  him. 

"  You  are  abvays  so,  Ruth,"  lie  said,  with  some 
reserve  in  his  tones.     "  "What's  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  I  have  hoard  from  mv  father,"  she  said. 

"  And  his  head  is  on  his  shoulders  still,  and  no  one 
has  the  rew  ard  (  "  murmured  Florian  regretfully. 

"  Scott,  that  queer  Jiunter,  came  to  me  after  sun- 
down," Ruth  began,  "  and  told  me  that  my  father 
Avas  hiding  in  a  cave  among  the  islands,  and  was 
anxious  that  I  should  seiul  him  some  money.  Scott 
was  to  bring  it,  but  I  told  him " 

"  That  you  would  get  me  to  do  it  instead,"  Florian 
interrupted,  "  and  bring  him  some  news  and  help 
him  to  get  out  of  the  country." 

"  Xot  at  all,"  said  Ruth,  "  but  that  1  would  go 
mvself,  for  I  know  how  he  wishes  to  see  me." 

"  Oh!  it  is  to  be  a  night  adventure,"  said  Florian. 
The  fog  was  gone  and  the  wind  was  freshening 
rapidly.  Dull  clouds  obscured  the  sky,  but  the  faint 
starlight,  shining  down  in  broken  beams,  showed 
ugly  white  caps  playing  across  the  blade  waters. 

"  It  will  be  a  rough  night " 

"  Ah !  but  Ave  shall  not  be  out  all  night,"  said 
Ruth,  "  and  for  an  hour  this  wind  will  be  no  stronger. 
But  we  must  not  delay,  and  I  must  get  over  to- 
night." 

"  Well,  wrap  up  and  we  are  off." 

He  got  the  boat  ready,  a  common  yacht  of  ordi- 
nary size,  and  presently  they  pushed  off,  and  in  an 
instant  were  scudding  like  birds  over  the  angry  bay. 
In  fact,  the  wind  was  almost  too  much  for  the  ves- 
sel, as  some  wild  seas,  which  partly  drenched  them, 


28 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


plainly  showed.  Sometimes  the  waves  which  broke 
in  their  path  found  a  lodging  place  in  the  boat ;  and 
as  they  energed  from  the  channel  into  a  broad  bay 
Avhere  the  shifting  winds  had  full  play,  the  little 
craft  began  to  heave,  and  between  altering  their 
course  and  dodging  seas  they  were  a  long  time  in 
getting  to  their  destination.  It  was  with  great  satis- 
faction Florian  sailed  under  the  lee  of  a  pretty 
island  not  more  than  a  mile  distant  from  the 
Canadian  shore. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  said  Kuth  ;  "  we  are  to  look 
for  a  projecting  rock,  a  house,  and  a  light." 

"  That  is,  you  want  Scott's  oratory,  hermitage, 
ranch,  or  whatever  you  please  to  call  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Cabin  is  a  good  word,  for  I  fancy  the  hunter  is 
not  a  man  of  much  prayer." 

"  He  ought  to  be,  in  this  solitude."  All  at  once 
a  light  and  a  rock  burst  upon  their  view,  and  the 
hunter  himself  stood  on  the  shore  to  welcome  them 
in  the  darkness.  When  Kuth  and  Florian  had 
landed  and  the  boat  was  safely  anchored,  he  led 
them  into  a  double-roomed  cabin,  such  a  hut  as 
men  of  his  class  are  accustomed  to  build — stout 
and  serviceable,  with  a  table  and  stools,  a  single 
window,  a  great  fireplace  heaped  with  logs — for  the 
nights  are  chilly  so  near  the  water — fire-arms  and 
fishing-tackle  in  profusion,  a  print  or  two,  and  a 
few  well-thumbed  books.  There  was  nothing  no- 
ticeable in  the  hut  save  its  cleanliness,  neatness,  and 
wholesome  smell,  as  if  no  more  offensive  intruders 
than  sun,  air,  and  good  cookery  ever  found  entrance. 

"  Make  yourself  quite  at  home,"  said  the  hermit, 
placing  the  single  candle  where  it  would  afPord  the 


THE   ISLAND. 


29 


most  light.  "  Your  paw^  is  not  here,  Miss,  but  he'll 
be  here  right  off  as  soon  as  I  kin  git  to  him.  You, 
youngster,  kin  see  to  miss  while  I  git  her  paw.  He's 
not  a  thousand  miles  off,  and  if  you  want  an3'^thing 
to  eat  thar's  the  door  to  the  pantry." 

This  was  quietly  said,  while  Florian  kept  his  keen 
eyes  fastened  on  the  speaker.  For  to  him  this 
hunter  had  always  been  a  mystery  because  of  his  re- 
tired life  and  taciturn  disposition.  When  he  went 
out  Florian  began  a  minute  examination  of  the  whole 
place. 

"  "Why  are  you  so  inquisitive  ? "  said  Kuth.  "  Have 
you  another  theory  concerning  this  man  ? " 

"  No ;  but  I  wish  to  find  one.  He  is  an  odd  char- 
acter and  ought  to  have  a  history,  a  romance — 
something  that  will  give  the  key  to  his  present  posi- 
tion. Whence  came  he  ?  Was  he  crossed  in  love  ? 
Did  he  commit  a  never-to-be-forgotten  crime  ?  Has 
he  friends  ? " 

"  *  Had  he  a  father,  had  he  a  mother  ? ' "  said  Ruth, 
repeating  all  the  delightful  poem,  while  Florian  ex- 
amined and  talked,  and  finally  sat  down  disappointed. 

"  Not  even  a  pencil-mark  in  these  old  works,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  nor  a  bit  of  writing  anywhere,  nor  any 
indication  of  better  days.  Books  on  fishing  and 
hunting ;  a  cabin  like  all  of  its  class  ;  a  man  of  fishy 
smell  and  look  and  speech — poor  material  to  collect 
a  romance  from." 

"  Now,  as  to  the  look,"  said  Ruth,  "  I  fancy  there 
is  something  poetic  about  him.  His  eyes  are  clear, 
blue  as  the  sky,  well-shaped,  large  but  for  bushy 
evebrows.  He  has  a  fine  head  and  beautiful  hair, 
but  that  cap  spoils  or  hides  all." 


30 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


W- 


"  You  are  thinking  of  his  magnificent  surround- 
ings," said  Florian.  "  Tie  looks  well,  because  the 
image  of  him  always  carries  this  setting  of  nature. 
But  matter  rules  this  temple.  There  is  no  mind 
here." 

"  Father,"  murmured  Euth,  slipping  into  her 
father's  outstretched  arms  as  that  gentleman  entered, 
followed  by  Scott.  The  hermit  smiled  on  the  scene 
till,lookingat  Florian,  lie  seemed  suddenly  overcome, 
and  shuffled  into  a  corner. 

"  Florian,  a  thousand  thanks,"  said  the  Squire, 
shaking  hands  violently  with  the  youth,  his  face 
purple  with  emotion,  restrained  because  the  hermit 
had  forbidden  him  to  roar.  "  She  is  yours,  and  you 
will  guard  her  when  I'm  far  away  on  the  V'^low." 

"  On  your  pillow  ? "  cried  Florian.     "  ^""hy " 

"  On  the  billow,  sir ! "  said  the  Squire.  "  No 
tricks,  sir  ;  I  can't  stand  'em  now.  I  mean,  when  I 
am  sailing  for  sunny  France,  take  care  of  her." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  whimpered  Ruth,  beginning 
to  cry  and  patting  his  white  liead. 

"  Ay,  that's  right,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Pat  away. 
You  may  not  know,  my  dear,  how  costly  a  piece  of 
furniture  that  head  of  mine  is  now  with  two  govern- 
ments after  it.  You'll  coine  with  me  ?  Not  at  all. 
You'll  stay  here  with  Florian  and  go  to  France  on 
your  bridal  tour.  I'll  have  a  place  for  3'ou.  I'll  be 
the  thorn  of  those  two  rascally  governments.  I'll 
be  lonely,  I  know,  but  FU  make  up  for  it  by  fight. 
There,  there,  little  girl,  just  sit  down  and  get  sen- 
sible again.  You  don't  happen  to  have  a  pipe, 
Florian  ?  This  man  here  don't  smoke — not  enough 
fire  in  hiui  for  that." 


THE   ISLAND. 


31 


Kuth  made  strenuous  elTorts  to  recover  from  ii  lit 
of  sobbing,  and  her  father  lighted  his  pipe.  Under 
its  soothing  influence  he  grew  nichmcholy. 

"  "When  I'm  in  France,  Floriun '' 

"  But  you're  not  there  yet,  sir,  and  we  don't  intend 
you  shall  go." 

"  You  don't  know  the  malice,  the  devilish  what- 
d'ye-call-it,  of  these  two  governments.  '  If  we  fail,' 
says  Mackenzie  to  me,  '  we're  damned ' — politically 
i  mean.  What's  the  use  ?  I  must  go.  I'm  cut  out 
for  an  exile ;  I  feel  it  all  over  me,  along  with  the 
rheumatism,  since  I  began  jigging  around  these  con- 
founded islands.  Hear  that  sigh?  It  attacks  me 
regularly  night  and  day." 

Euth  smiled. 

"  That's  right,  dear,"  said  he.  "  1  know  what 
you're  thinking  of — that  it  will  take  many  sighs  to 
make  the  old  man  give  up  the  last  one.  They  may 
search  and  persecute,  but  I  won't  lose  a  pound  of 
flesh  for  'em.     Ko,  sir  !  " 

"  "What  do  you  think,  Scott  ? "  said  Florian  to  the 
hermit.  "  Isn't  there  some  way  to  get  the  Squire 
out  of  this  muddle  ? " 

"  Muddle,  sir !  "  thundered  the  Squire  in  a  crescendo 
which  sank  to  a  whisper  at  the  warning  gesture  of 
Scott.     "  You  mean  revolution." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Florian,  "  revolution." 

"  There  is  but  one  way  that  I  kin  see,"  replied 
Scott  modestly. 

"  You  !  What  do  you  know  about  it  ? "  said  the 
Squire  roughly.  "  Why,  Florian,  what  can  any  one 
think  of  a  man  who  says  that  it  takes  as  much 
power  in  Almighty  God  to  knock  a  thing  into  nothing 


il 

1 1 

i 

i 

i 

I  i 

1   ■' 

\ 

i 

f 

5 

i 

1 
1 

} 

82 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


as  it  did  to  take  it  out  of  nothing  ?  He  says  that 
and  swears  by  it.     Don't  3'ou,  sir — don't  you  ? " 

"  What  I  was  thinking,"  said  Scott,  "  this  young 
man  might  go  down  to  the  Governor  of  the  State 
and  just  settle  the  matter  in  a  quiet  way  without 
much  talk " 

"  Certainly !  That  ends  it — a  boy  settles  a  revo- 
lution." 

"  No,  no,  papa,"  said  Kuth.  "  He  means  that 
Florian  shall  bear  your  submission " 

"  I'll  never  submit !     Well,  go  on." 

"  To  the  governor,  and  may  be  he  will  accept  it, 
and  you  will  not  have  to  go  so  far  away  and  leave 
me  alone." 

"  That's  the  hardest  part  of  it — leaving  you,  dear ; 
but  what  can  I  do — what  can  I  do  ?  " 

Scott  beckoned  to  Florian,  and  they  went  out- 
side. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  hermit,  "  as  far  as  I  kin  learn, 
this  country  ain't  so  much  against  the  Squire  as  he 
thinks.  It's  my  opinion  that  if  some  friend  went  to 
the  governor  and  said, '  Here,  thar  ain't  no  earthly 
use  in  drivin'  an  old  man  out  of  his  senses  because 
the  British  lion  is  roarin' ;  s'posin'  he  gives  hisself 
up,  wouldn't  the  government  kind  o'  parole  him  and 
let  him  stay  at  home  while  he  keeps  quiet  ? ' — that 
would  settle  the  hull  business,  /  think.'''' 

"  I  think  the  same,"  said  Florian.  "  We'll  per- 
suade him  to  give  me  the  authority  to  treat  for  him, 
and  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  keep  him  for  a  few 
days  until  I  return." 

"  In  course,  in  course  ;  he's  welcome  as  long  as  he 
stays." 


THE    ISLAND. 


33 


"  You  have  a  nice  place  about  here,"  said  Florian, 
desiring  to  draw  him  out.  "  A  little  lonely,  per- 
haps?" 

"  Somewhat,  but  I  like  it,"  answered  the  man 
simply.  "  I  couldn't  stay  in  your  towns  now,  and 
there  isn't  another  place  in  the  world  I'd  exchange 
with  jist  at  this  moment." 

"  You  have  not  had  much  experience  in  towns?" 

"  A  good  deal,"  said  Scott,  reflectively  ;  "  but  not 
for  a  long  spell.  I  crammed  a  pile  of  fact  into  a 
short  spell  and  got  tired  mighty  soon.  It's  always 
the  way,  even  here,  I  notice,  though  you  don't  get 
tired  so  quick,  nor  you  don't  stay  that  way  long. 
When  I  get  all  out  of  sorts,  be  it  night  or  day,  I 
walk  out  on  this  island,  and  that's  enough  for  me  : 
I'm  quieted  right  off,  an'  me  and  everythmg  in  the 
world  seems  to  suit  one  to  t'other.  I  look  at  them 
stars  a-shinin'  an'  a-twinklin'  so  easy  and  careless  up 
thar,  an'  then  see  'em  looking  the  same  in  the  water, 
with  a  little  tremble." 

Florian  had  waked  the  hermit  into  a  quiet  enthu- 
siasm, which  showed  itself  only  in  the  quantity  of  his 
Avords  ;  for  as  to  animation  of  gesture,  or  look,  there 
was  none.  He  thought  it  a  fair  o])portunity  to  put 
a  few  leading  questions.  "  I  do  not  wonder  at  such 
feelings,"  he  said,  "  for  I  have  often  thought  that 
such  a  life  would  be  a  second  paradise." 

"  It  is,  it  is,"  interrupted  Scott,  earnestly.  "  I  de- 
clare to  you  I  never  knew  what  happiness  really 
Avas  till  I  lit  on  this  place." 

"  But  its  disadvantages  are  so  many,"  continued 
the  youth,  "  and  loneliness  is  the  first.  Then  when 
sickness  overtakes  you,  or  feebleness,  the  comforts 
3 


34 


SOI.ITAi;V    ISLAM). 


ill    I 


of  companionslii]),  antl  j)arti{ularlv  of  religion,  arc 
wanting." 

"  Well,  about  religion  T  can't  say  much,"  taking 
the  youth  by  the  arm  and  beginning  to  walk  up  and 
down,  "for  I  don't  s'])ose  I'N'e  got  a  good  pile  of  it. 
I  don't  caro  for  the  comforts  of  com))anionship.  I 
have  never  suffered  half  as  much  fiom  lonesome 
fcelin'shere  as  in  t)ie  world.  There's  nothin'  stands 
between  me  and  God  but  this,  boy  " — and  he  beat 
his  body.  "  And  (lod  is  here,"  he  added  reverently, 
"  and  who  can  say  that  he  is  lonely  with  such  a  Bein' 
round  ?  I  can't.  I  found  out  when  I  was  like 
you  that  you've  got  to  be  aione  most  of  the  time. 
Those  you  think  most  of  are  very  near,  but  they  only 
show  you  that  you  can't  git  any  mortal  man  or 
woman  as  near  your  heart  as  you  want.  God  only 
can  fold  you  right  up  and  satisfy  you ;  aiul  He's  all 
I  want  or  expect." 

"  1  have  often  thought  of  trying  it  for  a  time," 
said  Florian — "  this  life.  1  love  these  scenes  so.  I 
love  the  beautiful  solitude  of  such  a  night  as  this — a 
solitude  so  full  of  voices  that  but  for  their  harmony 
you  might  think  yourself  among  men.  But  old  ties 
are  hard  to  break.  You,  perhaps,  had  no  such  ties 
to  hold  you  to  the  world." 

"  I  had  my  ambitions,"  said  Scott,  "  but  a  breath 
blasts  those  foolish  things.  I  had  a  few  hearts 
bound  to  mine  kind  o'  strong,  but  death  makes  short 
work  of  sich.  No,  of  couree  I  mightn't  have  had  as 
many  as  you,  but  1  had  enough,  I  reckon  ;  but  still 
I  got  over  'em,  and  they  never  trouble  me  now." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  get  a  liking  for  this 
kind  of  life  ?     Was  it  very  hard  at  first  ? " 


i    m  ' 


I 


M  I 


THK    ISLAND. 


86 


"  No,  it  was  never  hard.  I  was  kind  of  broken 
up  and  took  to  it  for  health's  sake ;  then  I  stayed  in 
it,  and  Fin  goin'  to  stay  in  it  till  the  end,  if  I  can. 
Some  morning  they'll  he  lookin'  for  me  and  they'll 
find  me  dead.  I'll  he  buried  thar,  I  trust,  whar  the 
old  house  stands  -unless,"  he  added  playfully,  "  the 
angels  of  the  island  will  bury  me  quietly  themselves, 
for  I  love  'em  well,  as  they  know." 

"  You  are  deserving  of  such  a  burial,"  said  Florian  ; 
"  no  man  has  ever  paid  such  honor  to  nature  as  you 
have  in  this  section.  I  would  like  to  be  present 
when  they  bury  you." 

"  The  world  doesn't  come  in  to  such  funerals," 
Scott  answered,  laughing,  "  so  you  needn't  expect 
to.  Hadn't  we  better  go  in  now  and  try  to  win 
over  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  One  moment,  Scott.  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor 
of  you  which  you  must  grant  me.  I  like  this  soli- 
tude and  I  like  you.  "Will  you  permit  me  to  come 
here  sometimes  and  stay  a  week  with  you,  and  fish 
and  hunt  and  talk  with  you  ?  It  will  be  only  for  a 
short  time,  as  I  will  soon  be  going  off  from  this 
place." 

The  hermit  listened  with  patience  to  this  bold 
request. 

"  I  don't  invite  any  one  here,"  he  said  reservedly  ; 
"  but  if  you  want  to  you  kin  come  on  conditions. 
You're-  not  to  talk  about  me  to  any  one  as  long's 
you  live ;  and  as  to  your  comin',  remember  I  don't 
invite  any  one,  and  they  can't  come  too  seldom." 

Without  waiting  to  receive  Florian's  thanks  for 
so  concise  and  negative  an  invitation,  he  went  hastily 
into  the  cabin.    Ruth  had  reconciled  her  father  to 


86 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


the  proposition  of  an  embassy  of  peace  to  the  gov- 
ernor, and  from  considering  the  woes  of  exile  the 
hearty  Squire  had  passed  to  the  contemplation  of  a 
homely  yet  safe  future,  and  he  was  ready  with  all 
sorts  of  advice  for  his  young  ambassador. 

"Don't  stoop,  Florian — don't  yield  an  inch. 
They'll  be  glad  enough  to  listen  to  you  when  they 
hear  your  message.  I'd  rather  an  older  man  would 
go ;  but  you  have  the  ability,  and  'twill  bean  opening 
for  you.  You'll  get  acquainted  with  the  nobs,  and 
a  slight  hint  that  you're  related  to  mo  won't  do  any 
harm.  A  good  deal  may  come  of  k.  Revolutionists 
are  the  style  of  this  ag«^  anci  you  reflect  some  of 
their  glory.  Mackenzie  won't  lilce  it.  He'll  be  in 
jail,  and  I'll  be  out ;  but  pshuw !  Why  didn't  he 
have  gumption  enough  to  hoe  his  own  row  in  Canada  ? 
I  did  mv  share  on  this  side.  I'll  be  blest  if  I'll  do 
any  more." 

"  That's  the  way  I  look  at  it,"  Scott  began. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  look  at  it,"  snapped  the 
Squire.  "  What  do  you  know  about  the  matter  ? 
Get  correct  ideas  of  Almighty  God,  before  you 
dabble  in  politics.'" 

"  Good  advice,"  said  P'lorian,  "  if  politicians  them- 
selves will  follow  it." 

"  Now,  see  here,  Pen'l'ton,"  said  the  hermit 
bluntly,  "don't  you  know  you've  made  a  fool  of 
yourself  in  this  matter  '^  ' 

"  Yes,  of  coursjc  i  do.  I  admit  it.  Go  on,  con- 
found you !  A  fool  who  wouldn't  make  a  fool  of 
himself  talking  with  you !  It  makes  me  foolish  just 
to  look  at  you." 

"  Sh ! "  cried  Florian,  with  sudden  and  tragic  em- 


THE   ISLAND. 


87 


the 

tter  ? 

you 


phasis.  A  death-like  silence  fell  on  the  place.  liuth 
threw  her  uriiis  about  her  father,  and  the  hunter 
blew  out  the  candle. 

"  ril  reconn<  liter,"  said  he,  and  stole  away.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken  until  he  returned. 

"  I  think  all's  square,"  he  said,  relighting  the 
candle,  "  but  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  git  to  bed,  or 
the  next  warning  niiglit  have  some  meanin'  in  it. 
You,  Miss,  can  have  this  room  here,  and  take  the 
candle  along.  Your  paw  an'  the  youngster  kin  take 
the  floor  with  a  blanket." 

Ruth  took  the  candle  and  kissed  the  Squire  good- 
night with  an  anxious  face.  As  she  was  passing 
into  the  room  Florian  whispered  : 

"Don't  he  frightened.  I  only  did  it  to  stop  the 
argument." 

She  laughed  and  went  in. 

"  There's  your  blankets,"  said  Scott,  throwing 
them  on  the  floor.     "  (lood-night." 

And  without  paying  any  attention  to  their  pro- 
testations, he  opened  the  door  and  was  gone. 

"  A  nice  fellow,  but  glum,"  were  the  Squire's  last 
words  as  he  glided  into  the  bass  of  an  all-night  snore. 
Florian  himself  was  already  asleep,  and  his  drieams 
were  very  beautiful  when  the  moon  looked  in  through 
the  little  window  of  the  cabin  and  shone  on  his  up- 
turned face.  It  seemed  to  him  that  a  sublime  figure 
stood  beside  him.  It  was  an  angel,  before  whose 
radiance  the  moon  grew  dim,  and  his  broad  wings 
stretched  from  horizon  to  horizon,  long  spoars  of 
brilliancy.  On  his  face  resled  a  smile  so  heavenly 
that  Florian  stretched  out  his  hands  to  invite  his 
embrace.    The  angel  stooped  and  kissed  him  ;  he 


'V 


38 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


felt  ^^he  cold  lips  and  tlie  cheek  on  his  own,  and  at 
once  felt  all  his  glory  departing.  With  a  cry  of 
sorrow  he  awoke.  All  was  stillness  aronnd  him, 
and  the  moon  was  smiling  through  the  Avindow. 

"  A  dream  worthy  of  the  phice,"  said  Florian. 
"I'm  going  to  see  the  island  at  two  o'clock  of  the 
morning." 

He  jumped  up  and  \\as  preparing  to  go  out  Avhen 
a  low  moan  met  his  ear.  It  was  smothered  and  dis- 
tant, yet  the  agony  was  so  exquisite  that  a  sudden 
tremor  of  fear  seized  him.  He  tried  to  locate  it,  but 
in  vain,  and  hurried  out  into  the  open  air.  The 
moaning  never  ceased  for  a  moment,  and  the  anguish 
was  so  keen  that  Florian  ran  hither  and  thither,  but 
no  trace  of  the  cause  could  be  found.  The  huge  boul- 
der on  Avhicli  the  cabin  stood  was  searched  on  all 
sides.  Away  from  it  the  moans  grew  fainter,  yet 
around  it  thev  seemed  far  off  and  smothered,  and  he 
continued  the  searcii  until  they  died  away  entirely. 

The  charm  of  the  night  was  far  beyond  tlie  praise 
of  words,  so  weird,  so  unreal,  so  supernatural  was 
every  tint  that  the  moon's  delicate  brush  laid  on  the 
canvas.  For  an  hour  he  sat  on  a  bench  that  over- 
looked the  river.  11(3  heard  a  noise  below  him  at 
the  river's  edge  directly  under  the  boulder.  Tak- 
ing the  shelter  of  a  bush  that  grew  there,  he 
looked  down  to  see  the  hermit  quietly  standing 
there  with  his  eyes  turned  to  the  sky.  He  was 
weeping,  and  his  face  was  palf,  Florian  drew  back 
and  fled  softly  to  the  house,  lie  had  no  wish  to  play 
the  spy,  however  great  his  curiosity,  and  as  he  lay 
down  liis  heart  was  full  of  a  great  pity  for  this  lonely 
man. 


# 


I 


it 


I 

I 

i 


Is 


li     i 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE    SICK    liOOM. 


he 


Beforp:  liis  ileparture  for  Albany  Florian  seemed 
so  satislied  about  his  rektions  with  Ruth  that  Linda 
fore  bore  to  quc^stion  hiin.  But  she  gave  Ruth  no 
peace  until  she  had  worried  some  information  con- 
cerning their  midnight  adventures. 

"  AVe  sailed  to  that  little  island  where  Scott  lives," 
said  Ruth,  "  and  sailed  back  again.  There  was  noth- 
ing more  to  it." 

"  Where  is  the  island  i "  said  Linda.  "  What  is  its 
name  ? " 

"  It  has  none  that  I  heard  of.  It  looked  so  lonely 
and  small  that  I  named  it  Solitary  Island  in  my  own 
mind." 

And  so  the  island  was  thereafter  called  by  all  who 
were  concerned  in  the  Squire's  escapade. 

"  I  must  go  see  it  some  time,"  said  Linda.  "  And 
Florian  did  not  get  spiteful  once  the  whole  evijning, 
nor  say  harsh  things,  i.or  get  moody  ?  " 

"  Why  should  he  ? " 

"  AVell,  he  was  \i\  a  (jueer  state  of  mind  that  night," 
said  Linda,  "  although  he  didn't  show  it,  nor  tell  me 
why.     I  thought  something  was  going  to  happen." 

She  said  this  so  roguishly  that  Ruth  blushed. 

"  I  see  I  must  out  with  the  whole  tliins:,  vou  stub- 

be    'loretic,"  Linda  went  on.     "  Now  tell  me,  ])l  .;se, 

39 


40 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


haven't  you  and  Florian  come  to  any  agreement 
about  your  future  life  i " 

"  Long  ago,"  said  Kuth, 

"  But  that's  the  old  story,"  pouted  Linda,  "  it  was 
*  if '  here  and  '  if '  there.  What  I  am  dying  to  know 
is,  if  you  have  done  with  '  ifs.'  " 

"  No,"  said  Ruth  briefly. 

"  Then  his  heart  failed  him  at  the  last  minute,  for 
as  sure  as  Florian  rowed  across  the  bnv  so  sure  was 
he  of  ending  suspense  that  night,"  said  Linda ;  "  and 
I  must  say  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  while  you  remain  on 
the  fence,  Ruth,  he  will  put  off  his  departure  for 
New  York." 

"  He  will  not  have  to  delay  long,"  Ruth  said.  "  I 
am  pretty  near  a  decision  now," 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  on  the  Methodist  side.  I 
can  tell  it  by  the  length  of  your  face.  And  you  so 
sensible,  so  tender  about  public  displa}^  and  all  that. 
I  credit  you  with  better  sense.  Well,  I'll  go  to  see 
you  sit  on  the  conviction  bench  and  hear  you  shout 
glory  when  the  spirit  seizes  you." 

"  There  are  Methodists  and  Methodists,"  said 
Ruth,  meeklv. 

"Forgive  my  impertinence,"  Linda  pleaded. 
"  fou  would  make  Mormonism  sweet  if  anything 
could.  I  shall  not  pester  you  with  questions  any 
more,  but  leave  everything  to  time  and  le  hon  Diexi. 
But  oh,  my  heart  is  just  bound  up  in  the  idea  of 
being  your  bridesmaid,  nnd  it  will  break  into  little 
bits  if  I  am  disappointed." 

Florian  returned  from  Albany  successful,  and 
the  girls  met  him  at  the  depot.  "  It's  all  settled," 
said  he.     "  All  your  father  has  to  do,  Ruth,  is  to 


THE   SICK   ROOM. 


41 


"I 


said 


deliver  himself  up  to  the  marshal,  when  he  will 
be  released  on  parole  and  no  further  trouble  given 
him." 

"  How  can  we  ever  thank  vou  ? "  said  Ruth  tear- 
fully  ;  for  her  anxiety  had  been  very  severe. 

"  It  was  none  of  my  doing.  The  governor  was 
only  too  glad  to  hear  my  proposition,  and  there  was 
no  diplomacy  required.  I  had  dinner  with  him 
afterwards,  and  found  out  the  true  inwardness  of 
the  whole  matter." 

"  I  should  have  been  there,"  said  Linda.  "  I  do 
so  want  to  dine  with  a  governor !  What  a  place 
this  is — not  a  distinguished  man  in  it !  " 

"  And  what  did  he  say  to  you  ?  "  asked  Ruth. 

"  So  many  things  that  it  will  take  some  time  to 
relate  them.  When  we  have  had  dinner  you  shall 
hear  everv  word." 

But  events  had  been  happening  in  his  absence  of 
a  week,  and  before  dinner  his  mother  felt  urged  to 
call  them  to  his  attention.  Mrs.  Winifred  was  full 
of  anxiety  with  regard  to  many  things,  but  never 
Toimd  it  necessary  to  make  any  parade  of  her  fee'- 
ixiui^  before  her  familv. 

"  '^eemingly,  dear,"  she  said  to  Florian,  who  was 
most  patient  with  lier,  "we're going  to  have  trouble 
ill  Vu''ious  ways,  and  I  was  wondering  if  you 
noL- w^  -invthino;." 

"  Did  you  notice  anything,  mother  ?  "  said  Florian. 

"  Weil,  I  can't  say  that  I  did,  but  it's  hard  some- 
times to  decide.     Now,  there's  Linda " 

"  Linda  1 "  said  Florian,  smiling.  "  I  wasn't 
aware  there  was  anything  the  matter  with  her." 

"  No,  to  be  sure  not,"  said  she,  abashed  that  no 


42 


SOLITAKV    ISLAND. 


other  had  found  jinythiiig-  uiniss  Avith  Linda  ;  *'  but 
seemingly,  Horian,  she  doesn't  eat  much,  and  she 
grows  thin  and  wliite  with  every  day  ;  but  of  course 
I'm  wrong." 

"  No,  you're  not,  mother,"  said  Florian,  jumping 
up.  "  I  did  take  notice,  not  so  very  long  ago, 
eitliei'." 

"  Then,  Sara,"  began  Mrs.  AVinifred  with  more 
hesitation —  "  I  don't  know.  I'm  not  sure,  but 
seemingly  ^■•^'  (juite  indifferent  to  her  religion 
lately.     I  ma 


wrong- 


"  No,  no,'' sai*  v  lorian  ;  "  but  that's  a  gentle  way 
of  saying  a  very  serious  thing,  mother.  Go  on; 
you're  not  wrong." 

"  She  has  a  great  liking  for  Mr.  Buck,  seemingly ; 
of  course  I  wouldn't,  sav  that  she  had,  but  her 
actions — and  then  if  your  father  saw  anything 
wrong  he  would  be  ])ut  out." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Florian  ;  "  and  Sara 
w(juld  be  locked  up,  as  she  must  be,  I  fear,  before 
this  unhappy  affair  is  ended.  She  hasn't  enough 
mind  to  know  what  religion  is,  and  I  fear — I 
fenr " 

lie  passed  into  a  meditation  without  finishing  the 
sentence,  and  tapped  the  table  with  his  fingers.  A 
sob  aroused  him.  Mrs.  Winifred  was  weeping  and 
was  plainly  asliamed  of  herself  for  the  action. 

"  Well,  1  don't  tliink  the  matter  requires " 

"  I  know  it,"  sakl  she  ;  "  but  then  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  of  her  l)eing  a  minister's  wife,  seemingly." 

"  Time,  time,"  said  Florian,  "give  me  time  and 
I'll  move  Mr.  Buck  in  another  direction,  lie  is 
afflicted  with  the  desire  of  converting  us  all,  Pere 


THE   RICK    UOOM. 


43 


Rougevin  included.  Was  the  Pere  here  to  see  us  ? 
Does  he  know  of  the  matter  i  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  AVinifred. 

"  I  must  tell  him,  then.  He  is  good  at  devising 
sharp  maneuvers.  Perhaps  he  will  think  of  some- 
thins:.     P)Ut  now  Linda  must  be  looked  after.     If 


we  lose  that  flower " 

He  went  out  to  hunt  her  up,  without  finishing  a 
sentence  whose  import  he  did  not  realize  while  he 
thought  of  it.  Linda  was  eating  grapes  in  the 
garden. 

''That  looks  well,"  thought  Florian,  and  called 
her  to  the  veranda.  "  Ycni  are  t(j  come  with  me 
this  afternoon,"  said  he,  "  and  make  one  of  the 
S(jnire's  triumphal  procession  homeward.  Here, 
what's  this  i  You  are  too  pale.  And  why  does 
your  dress  fit  so  loosely,  Miss  (  I  noticed  it  a  week 
ago,  and  to-day  I  noticed  it  still  more." 

"  I  never  fatten  till  winter,"  said  she  soberly ; 
"  and  then  I  am  thinking  a  good  deal  lately." 

''  Sleeping,  you  mean.     What  about  ?  " 

"  About  your  visit  to  N*^w  York,  Florian,"  she 
said,  hoLling  up  some  grape-leaves  to  shade  her  face. 
"  You  needn't  hide  it.  I  know  vou're  more  than 
ever  determined  on  going  there,  and  I  was  think- 
ing how  I  should  amuse  myself  when  you  were 
gone." 

"I  won't  deny  your  assertion,  Linda,  but  my 
going  is  far  otT.  Tliei'e  are  too  many  obstacles  in 
the  wa> .'' 

"  I  know  them,  and  I  feel  wicked  enougli  to  wish 
thcv  wouhl  stav  in  your  wav  a  lon'^  time.  What 
nonsense,"  she  added,  "  to  borrow  trouble  !     While 


mw= 


44 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Ruth  Avavers  and  Sara  is  under  Mr.  l^uck's  spells 
we  shall  not  lose  vou." 

"  You  remind  me  of  my  chains,"  lie  said  smiling 
to  hide  liis  real  annoyance.  "  And  there  is  another 
more  binding  than  they." 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  I  won't  tell  you.  Be  content  that  while  Ruth 
wavers  and  Sara  affects  Mr.  Buck  I  shall  remain 
— and  then  longer,  perhaps,"  he  said  sighing. 

Linda  stood  looking  and  thinking  at  random,  and 
questioning  why  these  things  should  be.  In  a  few 
months  the  most  perfect  object  of  the  perfect  scene 
would  VMike  \r.\Yt  of  it  no  longer.  That  sun  and  sky 
above  her  ;  those  marvelous  islands,  whose  perfumes 
the  fre  ill  wi'Mis  fanned  to  the  shore;  that  water 
whose  beauty  was  ^)eyond  that  of  jewels  ;  the  quaint 
town,  so  old  and  so  clean  and  so  loved,  its  white- 
headed  and  dark-headed  people,  its  green  foliage  and 
autumn  fruits,  its  bells  and  sweet  and  harsh  noises ; 
the  stars  that  besprinkled  the  river  firmament  as 
well  as  that  of  heaven;  the  ghostly  moon,  the  white- 
winged  boats,  and  a  thousand  other  loved,  familiar 
things,  would  all  be  just  as  they  were  to-day  and 
last  night,  but  her  brother  would  be  gone.  Nay, 
thei'e  was  a  time  when  she  herself  would  make  no 
jmrt  of  the  scene,  and  yet  the  glorieii  of  it  would  re- 
main ;  newer  eyes  would  gaze  upon  it  and  see,  per- 
haps, all  that  remained  of  her — a  white  stone  in  the 
graveyard,  and  a  name.  How  could  that  little  world 
of  which  she  was  the  center  ever  get  along  without 
her  ?  Would  it  not  be  strange  to  feel  that  Linda 
AVallace  lay  out  of  sight  in  the  earth,  and  children 
played  thoughtlessly  on  her  grave,  and  no  one  spoke 


THE   SICK   ROOM. 


45 


of  her  more?     She  began  almost  unconsciously  to 


;v 


eep. 


"  This  is  all  there  is  of  earth,"  said  she,  "  and  one 
might  as  well  live  in  a  desert.  Heaven  is  the  only 
thing  worth  striving  for." 

"  A  correct  sentiment,"  said  Florian.  "  Dry  your 
tears  and  come  in  to  dinner.  Your  liver  is  plainly 
out  of  order  when  you  become  so  religious." 

She  laughed  and  went  in  with  him,  and  was  gay 
enough  for  the  rest  of  the  day  until  the  boat  was 
fitted  out  and  the  three  were  sailing  to  Solitary 
Island.  The  wind  was  quite  fresh  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  but  not  too  much  so  until  they  en- 
tered Eel  Bay.  There  some  caution  Avas  required 
up  to  the  very  landing-place  in  front  of  the  hermit's 
dwelling,  for  the  wind  blew  straight  down  the  chan- 
nel. It  was  very  awkward  of  Florian  tliat  he  should 
have  thrown  his  hat  into  the  air  as  the  hermit  and 
the  Squire  both  came  to  the  door. 

He  was  so  vain  of  his  good  news ! 

"  Look  out,  boy  !  "  said  Scott  and  the  Squire  to- 
gether. 

But  it  was  too  late.  The  boat  capsized  and  threw 
the  crew  into  the  rough  water.  There  being  no 
danger,  the  Squire  raged  and  became  profane.  The 
girls  both  swam  into  shallow  water  and  were  helped 
ashore,  laughing  and  yet  a  little  frightened.  Florian 
was  cast  down  with  shame. 

"  The  house  is  open  to  you,"  said  Scott,  "  and  you 
young  ladies  had  better  light  a  good  fire  and  dry 
your  clothes  or  you'll  ketch  a  tall  cold.  And  when 
you  go  a-sailin'  again  jes'  look  out  who  runs  the 
boat." 


i!     I 


46 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


"  It  never  happened  bd'ore,"  muttered  Florian, 
"  and  I'd  give  my  right  hand  if  it  liad  never  hap- 
pened." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Scott ;  "  mighty  big  pay  for  so 
little  value.     'Twon't  hurt  the  girls,  Pni  sure." 

"  I'm  not,"  said  theyoutli  briefly,  as  he  looked  ap- 
prehensively at  Linda  climbing  the  rock  in  her  wet 
clothes.  However,  they  appeared  at  sundown  with 
clothes  dried  comfortably,  and  none  the  worse  for 
their  ducking.  Florian  had  also  put  himself  in 
proper  shape  and  was  entertaining  the  admiring 
Squire  "with  his  account  of  Albany  and  its  notables. 

"  Ah  !  Florian,"  said  he,  "  there's  where  you  should 
be,  among  kindred  spirits,  among  the  high-fliers." 

"  If  I  were  a  voung  man "  Scott  said. 

"  But  you  aren't — you  never  will  be.  When  you 
were,  you  didn't  follow  your  own  opinions  ;  so  what 
use  to  inflict  them  on  the  young  fellow,  who  doesn't 
care  a  button  fur  your  solitary  way  of  living  ? "  said 
the  Squire. 

"  I  don't  want  the  lad  to  live  solitarv,  Pen'l'ton," 
said  Scott ;  "  let  him  double  up,  if  he  wants  to,  but 
let  him  stick  to  C'layburgh  and  happiness.  He'll  go 
wrong  sure,  if  he  gets  out  into  these  dizzy  conven- 
tions. He  hasn't  got  the  right — well,  I  don't  know 
what  to  name  it,  but  here's  the  place  for  him  to 
thrive." 

"  Theory,  theory  !  Scott,  I'm  obliged  to  you  for 
what  you've  done,  and  if  I  could  make  you  a  sensible 
man  I'd  do  it ;  but  I  can't,  so  call  and  see  me  and 
Ruth — she's  sweet  on  you — when  you  feel  like  it. 
Come,  girls — home,  home  to  that  confounded  govern- 
raent."     He  ran  down  the  shore  to  the  boat  after 


THE   SICK    i:oOM. 


47 


'5 


a  hocU'ty  liandsluikc  witli  t!i<>  licnnit,  while  Ruth 
poured  hor  gratitude  upon  the  solitary. 

"  It's  all  right,  Miss,"  said  he.  "  Fm  content,  and 
I  hope  you'll  pray  for  me  that  I  may  never  be  more 
iinha])py  than  1  am  now.  (io  ahead.  I'll  call  to 
see  ye  some  time." 

lie  stood  on  the  rock  in  front  of  his  house  long- 
after  they  started. 

"  It  makes  me  lonely  to  look  at  him,"  said  Linda — 
"  we  i'oiii!'"  to  our  cheerful  homes,  he  to  his  solitude." 

"  He  is  like  a  man  dead,"  said  Florian. 

The  next  morning  Linda  awok(i  Avitli  a  high  fever 
and  a  slight  cough  as  the  effects  of  her  wetting  the 
day  before,  and  Florian  felt  a  severe  twinge  of  grief 
as  he  saw  the  extreme  paUor  of  her  countenance  and 
its  faultv  bloom.  She  had  taken  a  chill  duriuir  the 
night,  but  a  little  addition  to  the  bed-clothing  had 
banished  it.  No  alarm  was  felt.  In  healthy  people 
these  little  irregularities  occur  and  pass  away,  and 
so  it  would  be  with  Linda.  Mrs.  Winifred,  however, 
was  anxious.  The  girl  was  not  strong,  she  said;  a 
doctor  could  be  easilv  summoned;  and  then  no  one 
knows  what  might  happen. 

Youth  laughed  at  these  anxieties  until  pain  cijue 
to  add  its  warning — pain  in  the  lungs  sharp  and 
distressful — and  the  cough  grcAV  more  racking  with 
every  hour.  To\vards  night  it  grew  serious.  Tliey 
tried  their  old  house  remedies  and  wished  to  treat 
her  illness  as  a  cold,  a  mere  cold,  which  youth  and 
health  throw  off  so  easily.  But  in  vain.  Linda 
grew  more  feverish  and  caught  her  breath  more  fre- 
quently. She  was  banished  at  last  t<j  bed  and  the 
doctor  called  in. 


I 


I 


) 


! 


i        w      1 


;i  I 


■  I 


48 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


There  is  his  knock  at  the  door.  Every  one  looks 
cheerful  on  hearing  it,  and  tlio  physician,  smiling  as 
he  enters,  gruffly  desires  to  know  what  people  have 
been  doing  to  got  sick  this  fine  weather.  Why, 
even  the  old  are  full  of  silly  thoughts  of  escaping 
this  year's  rheumatism  !  And  Linda  there  with  her 
brows  contracted  with  ])ain  !  Pshaw !  nonsense ! 
Pain  in  the  lungs?  How  do  you  know  it's  the 
What  do  women  know  about  the  lunjrs? 


lungs  ? 

Lungs,  indeed  !  Pains  when  you  breathe,  hey  ?  Ah ! 
where  have  you  caught  cold  ?  Ducked  in  this 
weather  ?  Yacht  upset  ?  Who  upset  it  ?  Never 
mind  who  i  But  I  will  mind,  and  I'll  call  him  a 
donkey,  an  ass,  a  mule,  to  upset  a  yacht  with  a 
woman  in  it  ?  Why  not  have  drowned  at  once  in- 
stead of  coming  home  to  take  a  pain  in  the  lungs, 
and  get  a  fever  and  a  pulse  at  one  hundred  and 
ten  ?  Why  go  out  on  the  water  in  stormy  wea- 
ther ? 

"  Why  do  anything  naughty  and  nice  ? "  says 
Linda  between  two  frowns  of  pain. 

"  There's  Eve  over  again,"  says  the  doctor,  writ- 
ing out  prescriptions  with  a  laugh.  "  I'll  call  at  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,"  said  the  physician.  "  I'm 
going  out  ten  miles  into  the  country,  and  I'll  call 
coming  back  :  have  the  door  open  for  me.  Good- 
night, Miss  Linda.  You  had  the  '  nice '  yesterday  ; 
you  are  having  the  '  naughty  '  to-day." 

Outside  he  looked  significantly  at  Florian. 

"  Pneumonia,"  said  he — "  not  necessarily  fatal, 
but  apt  to  be.  Follow  my  directions  to  the  letter 
until  I  return.     We  may  bring  her  through." 

Florian  stood  holding  the  door  and  looking  out 


4 
i 


4 


THE  SICK   ROOM. 


49 


says 


fatal, 
letter 


into  the  glowing  autumn  night.  The  cheery  voices 
of  sailors  came  up  from  the  river,  and  the  lights  at 
the  mastheads  shone  like  colored  stars.  lie  was  hot 
and  disturbed.  Linda's  days  were  over  perhaps,  and 
that  one  dear  obstacle  to  his  ambitions  was  to  be 
removed  by  death.  He  went  in  again  with  a  smil- 
ing face,  and  ran  against  ^Irs.  AVinifred  crying 
silently.  What  could  he  say  ?  Death  was  bitter 
enough,  but  she  was  to  suffer  death  so  often  that  he 
hastened  on  into  the  sick-room  and  left  her  uncon- 
soled. 

"  Shall  I  stay  with  you,"  he  asked,  "  or  do  you 
prefer  to  sleep,  Linda  ? " 

"  I  can't  sleep,"  she  answered  with  a  hushed  voice  ; 
"  and  if  I  doze  it  is  better  to  have  some  one  near  and 
the  lamp  burning.  I  am  very  ill,  Fiory,  and  I  am 
afraid." 

"  Afraid,  dear  ? "  trying  successfully  to  steady  his 
voice.  "  Afraid  of  what  ? "  though  he  knew  right 
well  the  cause  of  her  fear,  and  trembled  because  of 
its  truth.  How  sad  he  would  feel  if  death  stole  on 
him  so  suddenly,  and  he  so  young ! 

"  Of  death,"  she  answered,  "  AYe  talked  of  many 
things,  Florian,  but  never  of  that,  never  of  that  ? 
And  it  is  so  hard  to  die.  Tell  me  something  of  it, 
Florian ;  you  have  read  of  it  many  times." 

"  If  you  are  near  to  it,"  said  he,  "  your  own  feel- 
ings can  tell  you  more  than  books  or  men.  }:  ^i  \y 
the  dying  are  indifferent  to  the  agony,  particularly 
where  they  have  led  good  lives  or  innocent  lives  like 
yours,  Linda." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  led  an  innocent  life,"  she  said  simply. 
"  Thank  God  for  that  ?    Innocence  is  something." 
4 


'  I  I 


/I 


I: 


n 


11 


»]     m 


50 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


"  It  is  all,"  said  Florian ;  "  it  has  never  known  sin, 
and  does  not  know  suffering.  But  what  a  subject 
for  a  patient  who  is  to  get  well.  It  would  be  better 
to  go  to  sleep  ;  or  shall  I  read  to  you  ?" 

"  Read  to  me,  Flory,  and  talk  as  you  read." 

He  went  down  to  his  study  to  select  a  volume. 
There  were  many  books  in  his  possession  and  lie 
knew  them  all  by  heart ;  dangerous  books  none  of 
them,  only  the  best  and  purest  grain  of  the  world's 
harvest.     What  should  he  select  ? 

"  Nothing  too  pious,  for  tliat  would  frighten  the 
poor  child ;  nothing  friv(jlous,  for  that  would  not 
suit  the  condition  of  one  so  near  death." 

lie  walked  sudden)  v  to  the  window  choking.  "  Do 
I  realize  it,  Linda,  that  I  may  lose  you  ? " 

lie  took  out  Bonaventure's  fJfe  of  Our  Lord^  an 
when  he  had  gone  to  the  sick-room  and  had  ) 
nounced  the  story  of  the  Passion  she  Avas  not  sur- 
prised at  the  subject. 

"  It  is  so  appropriate,"  she  murmured :  "  I  am 
having  my  passion." 

lie  read  to  her  until  her  eves  closed  in  uneasv 
slumber,  and  then  sat  watching  the  flushed  face  and 
thinking.  Mrs.  AVinifred  was  the  only  other  person 
who  came  near  the  sick-room,  and  she  was  unable  to 
control  her  tears  even  under  Florian's  sharp  reproof. 
She  remained  a  great  part  of  the  time  in  self-banish- 
ment, and  he  dwelt  alone  in  the  sacred  silence  of  a 
sick-room.  Linda  was  fond  of  white  and  light  colors, 
and  her  chamber  was  litted  up  accordingly.  In  the 
dim  light  it  looked  like  a  dream.  Her  pale  fore- 
head and  flushed  cheeks  on  the  pillow  Avere  more 
an  outline  than   reality.     It  scared  him    when  he 


THE   RICK    ROOM. 


61 


thought  hoNv  short  the  time  until  they  might  be  on 
another  pillow  in  the  griiveyiird. 

"  Linda ! "  he  called  suddenly  in  an  overflow  of 
anguish.  She  awoke  with  a  start,  and  at  the  same 
instant  he  heard  a  carria'^e  at  the  door. 

"  The  doctor  has  come  a<;ain,  dear,"  he  said.  "  Did 
I  frin:hten  you  i " 

"  No,"  looking  around  in  amazement,  and  then, 
with  a  sigh,  realizing  her  sad  position. 

When  the  news  went  out  of  her  dangerous  illness 
a  number  of  friends  called,  but  Ruth  and  Pore  Rouge- 
vin  alone  were  admitted  along  with  the  doctor,  and 
seeing  them  Linda  began  to  fear  because  of  all  the 
trouble  in  her  behalf.  Three  visits  from  a  doctor  in 
so  short  a  time,  one  from  the  pi-iest,  and  the  distant 
sound  of  doors  closing  so  frequently,  with  many  little 
circumstances  to  which  she  had  hitherto  paid  no 
attention,  wt>re  at  the  least  ominous ;  and  even  while 
they  stood  about  her  smiling  cheerfully,  she  closed 
her  eyes  to  keep  back  the  bitter  tears  that  would  fall 
in  spite  of  her  determination  to  be  brave  and  hopeful. 
They  understood  the  reason  of  the  grief,  and  could 
say  nothing. 

Sara,  coming  in  as  her  sister's  tears  were  falling, 
was  impressed,  as  only  her  shallow  soul  could  be 
impressed,  with  a  wild  fright  that  prompted  her  to 
scream.  Fortunately  she  restrained  the  inclination, 
since  it  wjis  purely  personal,  and  a  little  thought 
convinced  her  that  it  was  another's,  not  her  own 
death-bed  she  was  attending.  Pere  Rougevin  pre- 
vented a  scene  by  banishing  the  whole  company,  him- 
self included,  from  the  room,  leaving  Ruth  to  attend 
the  patient. 


ffjO 


52 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


II 

I 

h 


"Wait,"  said  Linda,  feebly.  "  If  I  am  going  to 
die  I  must  get  the  sacraments." 

"  I  can  do  nothing  more  than  hear  your  confes- 
sion," said  the  priest ;  "  3'ou  are  not  in  sufficient 
danger  for  the  reception  of  the  others." 

The  look  in  Linda's  eyes  was  a  very  pleasant  one 
at  this  precise,  official  declaration,  and  it  said  clearly 
that  she  regarded  Pere  Kougevin,  stout,  flushed,  and 
short  though  he  was,  as  an  angel. 

"  I  thought  I  was  dying,"  she  stammered. 

"  Nonsense,  child  I  But  you  may  die,  and  it's 
well  to  be  prepared,"  he  said.  "  You  must  be  ready 
to  live  or  die,  as  God  wills." 

"  Alas ! "  murmured  Linda,  with  a  fresh  flood  of 
tears,  "  I  am  only  too  willing  to  live." 

"  There's  no  sin  in  that,"  was  the  sententious  re- 
mark, and  she  proceeded  with  her  confession. 

"  I  must  be  very  bad,"  she  said  to  Ruth  afterwards 
when  they  were  alone.  "  I  am  terribly  afraid  of 
dying." 

"  Who  i«  not  ( ''  said  Euth.  "  And  then  it  is  so 
near  us  always.  I  have  tried  to  get  used  to  the 
thought  of  it,  but  I  can't.  I  suppose  it  does  indi- 
cate a  lack  of  some  good  religious  feeling  that  we 
ought  to  have." 

They  were  all  surprised  one  day  at  a  visit  from 
Scott,  the  hermit,  who  walked  in  as  informally  as  a 
friend  might,  and  found  his  way  to  the  sick-room. 
In  his  solitude  Scott  looked  picturesque,  with  his 
rough  ways  and  dress,  and  curly  red  hair ;  but  in 
the  dainty  sick-room  he  was  as  much  out  of  place  as 
an  Indian  in  full  war-paint.  All  were  startled,  and 
Mrs.  Winifred  so  much  so  as  to  lose  her  senses.    Old 


THE   SICK   ROOM. 


63 


habits  are  strong,  however,  and  she  offered  him  a 
foot-stool  instead  of  a  chair,  vainly  feelin/  tor  '*.s 
absent  back  while  her  eyes  stared  rudely  but  help- 
lessly on  the  apparition. 

"  No,  thank  ye.  I'll  not  come  in,"  said  the  hermit, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Linda.  "  1  jest  heard  the  little 
girl  was  sick,  and  I  thought  it  might  have  been  the 
duckin'.  I'm  glad  you're  better.  Miss.  Take  care 
of  yourself.     Good-morning." 

He  was  off  in  an  instant,  but  Fiorian  seized  him 
almost  rudely  and  pushed  him  into  his  study. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  he,  "  and  you  must  not 
go  until  you  are  thanked  and  hear  all  about  Linda." 

"  She's  gettin'  well,"  said  the  hermit.  "  I  reck- 
oned so  from  her  eyes." 

Scott  began  to  examine  the  books  in  the  room 
witli  interest. 

"  All  of  'em  good,  sound  ones,"  he  said,  "  if  their 
names  mean  anything." 

"  Would  you  like  to  borrow  some  ( ''  said  Fiorian. 

"No,  thank  ye;  I  han't  no  need  of 'em,  but  I'm 
right  glad  to  see  you  with  sich  books.  I  guess  I'll 
be  goin'  ;  I'm  kind  of  hasty  in  my  call,  but  usually 
I  don't  make  any." 

"  We're  so  oljliged  to  you,"  Fiorian  rej)lied,  "  and 
would  be  very  glad  to  see  you  again." 

The  hermit  made  no  remark  as  he  left  the  room 
and  ran  against  Mrs.  Winifred  outside  in  the  hall. 
The  lady  evidently  wished  to  say  something  but  was 
disconcerted  at  the  right  moment. 

"  What  is  it,  motlier  i " 

"  Linda !  "  gasped  Mrs.  Winifred — "  the  gentleman 
— seemingly " 


54 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  Oh !  Linda  would  like  to  see  you  again  before 
you  go,  Scott." 

"  Anything  to  oblige  the  young  miss,"  said  the 
hermit,  and  he  followed  Florian  into  the  sick-room. 

"  I  wanted  to  thank  you,"  whispered  Linda ;  "  you 
are  very  kind.  Send  me  some  wild  flowers — the 
very  i  itest." 

"  You'll  have  'em  to-night,  Miss,"  said  the  hermit. 
"  Good-day,  ma'am — good-day." 

And  he  hurried  awkwardly  from  the  room. 

"  I  shall  call  on  you  soon,"  said  Florian  as  they 
parted.    He  merely  bowed  gravely  and  walked  away. 


•e 


CHAPTER  Y. 


ON   RETRKAT. 


Linda  during  the  next  two  weeks  continued  to 
improve,  and  by  the  middle  of  October  was  sitting 
cheerfully,  in  the  Avarm  parlor,  with  every  soul  in 
the  house  and  many  more  out  of  it  her  devoted  slaves. 
Choice  flowers  came  from  Mr.  Buck,  through  Sara, 
to  call  back  the  summer  to  her  room  and  have  it 
live  again  in  their  sweet  perfumes  and  gay  colors. 
Squire  Pendleton  brought  his  fearful  voice  daily  to 
her  court  and  related  over  again  the  new  and  old 
phases  of  his  political  exile.  Ruth's  gentle  touch 
and  sweet  eyes  were  there  most  frequently,  and 
most  welcome ;  and  Pere  Rougevin  and  Florian 
made  up  a  background  of  spiritual  and  physical 
lights  that  were  very  dear  to  the  sick  girl.  When 
she  arrived  at  this  stage  of  returning  health,  Florian 
make  ready  to  visit  the  hermit  for  a  week's  hunting 
and  fishing.  "  More  for  the  purpose  of  studying  the 
hermit,"  he  explained  to  Linda,  "  and  learning  the 
secret  of  his  happiness,  if  there  is  any."  Linda  took 
up  a  bunch  of  ferns  arrived  that  morning  from  the 
kindly  solitary,  and  buried  her  face  in  it. 

"  You  but  waste  your  time,"  she  answered,  "  as 
far  as  he  is  concerned.  Still  he  is  a  good  mirror. 
You  will  certain! V  learn  somothin"-  about  yourself." 

She  said  this  in  the  tone  of  a  hint,  which  Florian 

received  with  a  laugh  that  discovered  him. 

"  Your  sickness  has  made  you  sharp,"  he  said. 

65 


p 


66 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


: 


"  Well,  let  me  confess,  I  do  go  to  study  myself. 
What  then,  Cassandra  ?  " 

"  Cassandra,  indeed !  "  she  pouted,  and  then  sur- 
prised him  with  a  sob  and  a  few  tears.  "  I  am  so 
weak  yet,  Florian,  and  I  know  you  are  only  going 
to  ask  his  advice  about  leaving  here.  I  want  you 
to  promise  that  you  will  tell  me  every  word." 

"  I  am  not  so  certain  that  he  can  or  will  advise 
me,  Linda.  Nor  would  I  be  apt  to  follow  his  advice 
if  it  went  against  my  own  desires.  But  I  promise 
you,  my  dear  ;  and  you  are  quite  right.  I  am  going 
on  my  retreat." 

He  sat  looking  at  her  with  troubled  eyes.  He 
never  looked  at  her  otherwise  since  sickness  first 
struck  her  down,  and  his  first  sensation  of  real  grief 
was  gnawing  at  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  what  he 
would  lose  in  losing  her.  And  unconsciously,  too, 
he  was  studying  the  course  of  feeling  in  her  bosom, 
the  gradual  ripening  certainty  of  death  wliich,  amid 
doubts  and  fears,  was  already  blooming  in  the  giiTs 
heart  and  soul.  Ambitious  as  he  was,  death  had 
always  appeared  to  him  as  a  monster  who  might  at 
any  time  destroy  his  ambitions.  He  had  never  yet 
come  in  contact  with  it.  But  now  it  had  seized  most 
surely  on  Linda,  and  he  watched  its  process  with  a 
sort  of  fascination  that  sickened  body  and  soul,  and 
crowded  his  dreams  with  terrors.  He  must  come  to 
this  one  dav.     How  soon  ? 

It  filled  his  heart  with  a  disgust  for  life  that  all 
his  days  he  must  walk  under  the  threatening  shadow 
of  that  greatest  misfortune.  Why  live  and  work  at 
all  when  death  might  shatter  the  handiwork  of  years 
at  one  blow  ?    The  reasoning  was  poor  and  foolish, 


ON   RETKEAT. 


57 


but  his  melancholy  had  to  find  vent.  The  day 
shamed  his  melancholy  by  its  magnificent  joy.  The 
wind  was  not  strong  enough  to  roughen  the  water 
into  ugliness  but  white  caps  lay  along  the  deep 
green  of  the  river,  and,  like  the  foam  at  the  mouth 
of  a  wild  beast,  gave  a  suspicion  of  the  cruelty  that 
lurked  belo^v.  Against  Round  Island's  rocky  and 
flat  shore  the  waves  beat  with  monotonous  murmur- 
ing, and  distant  Grindstone  showed  dimly  through 
the  mist.  Across  Eel  Bay  the  afternoon  sun  sent  a 
blinding  radiance.  The  islands  about  were  still  in 
somber  green,  for  very  few  maples  found  a  foothold 
in  the  rocky  soil.  Their  Avarm  colois  of  death 
relieved  the  dark  background.  The  swish  of  the 
water  from  the  bow,  the  brightness  of  the  sky,  the 
somber  shores,  the  green  waters,  the  whistle  of  the 
wind,  and  the  loveliness  of  the  scene  passed  before 
his  senses  and  became  inwoven  with  his  melancholy. 
There  was  a  bitterness  even  in  the  cheerful  day. 
"When  he  arrived  at  Solitary  Island  the  hermit  was 
away.  He  took  possession  of  the  hut,  and,  finding 
some  remnants  of  the  Squire's  tobacco  and  a  pipe, 
made  himself  at  home  and  began  to  inspect  one  of 
the  notable  volumes  on  fishing,  Scott  returned 
shortly  and  gave  him  a  cool  reception. 

"  ilow  do  { "  he  said  shortly,  bringing  his  brows 
together  and  sending  a  sharp  look  into  lyi  face. 
" How's  the  little 'un ?" 

"  As  before,"  Florian  answered /»^eiriify.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  no  beliavipr  oi  Scott's  would 
drive  him  away  until  he  had  ac  .'ompliahed  his  pur- 
pose. And  Scott  saw  it  in  his  easy  manner,  and 
seemed  willing  to  submit  to  the  intrusion. 


^1! 


68 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


■'1 


.iif 


"  She  bade  me  thank  you  for  the  ferns,"  said 
Florian,  "  and  if  it  would  not  be  asking  too  much, 
would  you  call  and  see  her  as  often  as  you  visit  the 
town,  and  would  your  visits  be  oftener  made." 

"She  is  kind,"  was  all  Scott  replied,  and  set  about 
getting  supper.  Florian  made  no  offer  to  help  him, 
but  walked  out  on  the  boulder  with  his  book  and 
pipe,  and  gave  his  attention  to  the  long  shadows 
that  crept  through  and  over  the  islands  and  the  last 
feeble  whistle  of  the  dying  winds.  Far  away  east 
glimmered  a  single  star. 

"  Supper's  ready  !  "  called  Scott  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  Florian  sat  down  to  a  table  of  Spartan  sim- 
plicity— boiled  corn-meal  and  fish.  It  was  speedily 
ended,  for  neither  seemed  to  be  hungry  nor  disposed 
to  talk.  The  hermit  sat  silent,  and  Florian  was  de- 
termined to  interfere  as  little  as  possible  with  his 
humors.     He  ate  less  than  a  child. 

"  I  have  met  him  at  an  unlucky  tune,"  thought  the 
youth  ;  "  he  is  ill  and  out  of  sorts."  But  he  said  noth- 
ing whatever,  relighted  his  pipe  and  took  his  seat  on 
the  boulder  over  the  river.  For  a  few  minutes  there 
was  the  clatter  of  tin  dishes  as  the  solitary  cleaned 
them  and  put  them  away,  then  he  came  out  and  sat 
beside  Florian. 

"I  am  going  away,"  said  Florian  simply.  "I 
wanted  to  talk  with  you  first,  and  so  came  over." 

The  stars  were  coming  out  more  rapidly,  as  if  a 
mist  were  bein<i'  swept  off  the  sky,  and  the  shadows 
lay  very  deej)  around.  The  water  in  the  channel, 
like  a  wizard's  mirror,  changed  from  dark  to  bright 
and  back  again,  as  if  veiled  forms  swept  up  and  do^vn 
beneath  the  surface. 


ON    RETREAT. 


59 


"  And  so  you  are  going  away  ? "  said  Scott,  pres- 
ently. 

"  I  should  have  gone  long  ago.  Clay  burgh  is  no 
place  for  one  who  looks  to  a  future.  I  am  smothered 
and  cramped  for  a  better  element." 

"Your  dreams  are  too  big  for  your  brain.  Six 
feet  of  earth  hold  a  man  comfortably  when  he's  not 
full  of  nonsense." 

"  But  it  takes  an  eternity  to  held  the  soul." 

"  Not  as  I  understand  it,  boy.  It's  not  the  soul 
gets  cramped  with  such  quarters  as  ye  have  here. 
It's  proud  notions  of  one's  body  :  what  it  should  eat 
and  wear,  how  it  should  look  to  others,  an'  the  nice- 
ness  o'  bein'  better  than  its  kind.  People  don't  go 
looking  for  eternity  to  New  York.  Them  who 
found  it  suited  to  their  constitutions  hunted  in  nar- 
row caves  an'  monks'  cells  for  it,  long  afore  New 
York  was  known  to  a  soul." 

"  I  won't  dispute  your  assertions.  But  what  would 
you  have  me  do  ?  I  am  young  and  ambitious.  The 
world  must  go  on  as  it  has  from  the  beginning.  Why 
should  not  I  take  place  and  part  in  it,  using  my  tal- 
ents for  the  good  of  the  many  ?  I  have  no  inclina- 
tion for  any  other  kind  of  life,  and  there  I  feel  that 
I  shall  do  the  most  good." 

"  Why  not  ? "  echoed  the  hermit  with  a  touch  of 
sarcasm,  perhaps.  "  Saints  did  the  same  often,  I've 
heard  ;  but  they  made  their  talents  and  high  power 
a  means  to  an  end.  With  you  it  will  be  the  end. 
With  the  big  majority  these  good  things  of  the 
world  are  the  end.  The  man  that  looks  after  his  own 
soul  keeps  away  from  'em  till  God  calls  him  to  'em." 

He  rose  suddenly  as  if  he  had  spoken  too  much 


7  J 


60 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


and  was  just  aware  of  it.  There  was  no  moon,  and 
Florian  could  not  see  his  face  nor  discover  what 
mood  accompanied  these  words,  but  he  would  have 
given  something  to  catch  the  light  of  his  eyes  at  that 
moment. 

"  You  can  have  the  hut  to  yourself  while  you  stay," 
said  Scott,  starting  off  down  the  shore. 

"  Thank  you,"  Florian  said  quietly,  and  was 
tempted  to  ask  him  to  remain,  but  adhered  firm- 
ly to  his  determination  and  kept  his  mouth  shut 
grimly  until  the  sound  of  oars  down  the  channel  had 
ceased.  It  was  chilly  and  dark  on  the  island.  There 
was  no  wind,  only  the  gentle  plash  of  the  waves ; 
and  the  odd,  mysterious  sounds,  which  break  the 
vast  silence  of  nature,  quivered  on  the  air.  He  could 
see  nothing  but  outlines  and  the  shining  surface  of 
the  water.  Like  an  inverted  bowl  the  skv  arched 
over  him.  He  knew  that  for  miles  there  was  no 
living  man,  and  he  was  in  utter  darkness  and  soli- 
tude ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  was  left  nothing 
to  look  upon  but  his  own  soul.  He  was  too  sad  to 
endure  thought  at  that  moment,  and  began  to  bustle 
about,  lighted  a  candle  in  the  hut  and  put  on  a  fire, 
closed  the  doors  and  fixed  the  curtain  to  the  win- 
dow. 

The  October  nights  were  cold  and  left  a  touch  of 
frost  in  bare  places.  When  the  sun  opened  his  eyes 
the  next  morning  at  an  early  hour,  and  Fiorian 
looked  through  the  window  on  the  scene  without, 
there  was  a  silvery  whiteness  on  certain  objects, 
beautiful  but  depressing.  An  army  of  individual 
mists  was  rising  from  the  river,  and  every  object  was 
bathed  in  so  fresh  and  deep  a  color  that  it  seemed 


! 


ON    RETREAT. 


♦31 


to  have  just  been  laid  on  by  the  great  Master's  hand. 
He  dressed  and  bade  a  hasty  good-morning  to  the 
hermit,  who  was  getting  the  breakfast,  and  ran  out 
on  the  boulder  to  say  his  prayers  in  the  midst  of  that 
sublime  scenery.  He  prayed  aloud,  and  never  in  his 
life  did  prayer  seem  so  sweet,  so  real,  so  refreshing. 

"  Grub,"  said  the  hermit,  briefly,  from  the  door- 
way, and  he  went  in  composedly  after  that  ethereal 
flight  heavenward.  The  meal  passed  in  silence. 
When  it  was  over,  "  I'm  going  for  pike  this  mornin'," 
said  Scott,  briefly. 

Florian  took  this  for  a  gingerly  invitation,  and 
coolly  removed  himself,  his  pipe,  and  his  book  to  the 
boulder  without  answering.  The  hermit  busied  him- 
self in  preparing  his  boat. 

"  Would  you  like  to  come  ? "  said  the  solitary. 

"  I  have  much  to  think  of,"  he  replied. 

"  Better  get  town  cobwebs  from  your  brain  first. 
The  fishin'  is  good,  an'  if  ye  are  going  away  'twon't 
be  many  more  chances  you'll  have  after  the  world's 
pike  take  your  time." 

"  To-morrow  will  do,  Scott ;  much  obliged." 

"  No,  I'm  in-doors  to-morrow," 

"  Next  day,  then." 

"  Not  at  all  if  not  now,"  said  Scott,  and  if  his 
voice  was  not  sharp  his  words  were.  Florian  was 
surprised  at  his  urgency. 

"  Oh !  if  you  are  determined,"  he  laughed,  and 
came  down,  book  and  pipe,  to  the  boat.  They  rowed 
through  the  channel  out  into  the  broader  space  that 
opened  into  Eel  Bay — or  rather  the  solitary  did,  for 
Florian  lay  in  the  stern  idly  smoking. 

Said  Florian,  "  Why  in  the  name  of  heaven,  Scott, 


62 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


don't  you  write  poetry  ?  I  couldn't  stay  in  these 
solitudes  an  hour  without  finding  words  to  paint 
some  of  its  beauty." 

"  It  is  like  grief,  boy  ;  no  words  can  express  it." 

And  then  a  shade  camo  over  Florian's  face,  for  his 
mind  went  back  suddenly  to  Linda. 

"  At  this  hour,"  he  said,  "  Linda  is  taking  a  look 
at  the  new  sun  that  will  shine  for  her  only  a  little 
longer." 

"  Poor  little  girl  I "  muttered  the  hermit,  giving  a 
harder  pull  to  his  oars. 

"  But  what  of  that,  Scott  ?  She  goes  to  heaven 
safely,  I  know,  and  her  agony  will  be  trifling  to  her 
recompense.  I  would  not  care  but  for  that  other 
dying  at  the  same  time,  not  in  her  body  but  in  her 
soul." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  world's  chances,"  said  Scott. 
"  She  will  marry  the  minister  and  come  to  believe  what 
he  will  preach  day  and  night  for  her  sake.  There  is 
no  fixin'  sich  accidents." 

"  You  seem  to  know  all  about  the  matter,  Scott." 

"  It  is  town-talk,  lad.  Ye  brought  it  up  yourself 
fOS  if  ye  wanted  ray  opinion,  an'  I  gave  it." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  want  your  opinion,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
wanted  to  know  what  you  would  do  in  such  a  case 
as  that  of  my  sister's.  If  she  wishes  to  marry  Mr. 
Buck  I  see  no  way  of  preventing  her,  unless  it  be  by 
stratagem.  It  is  not  so  much  love  of  the  minister  as 
a  romantic  silliness  that  prompts  her  to  marry." 

"  If  you  want  stratagem,"  said  Scott,  "  see  Pere 
Bougevin.  That's  my  whole  and  only  opinion  on  a 
family  matter.  Jes'  hand  up  the  minneys,  will  ye, 
and  I'll  drop  the  line  yonder." 


ON  rp:treat. 


68 


The  strong  colors  of  tlio  curly  in()rnin;L;tliat  glowed 
around  him  only  JuUlocl  to  his  melanclioly.  IIo 
merely  raised  his  head  and  smiled  when  Scott 
landed  his  first  pike,  a  handsome  livo-])ounder,  and 
felt  none  of  that  joyous  excitement  which  such  an 
incident  raises  in  the  heart  of  the  true  sports- 
man. It  was  as  if  life  had  come  to  <t  standstill 
with  him  because  of  the  tangle  in  his  affairs,  and  he 
was  borne  away  through  a  fairy  region  of  indiffer- 
ence. 

Before  noon  the  hermit  had  landed  a  few  dozen  of 
the  shining  pike  and  Florian  had  dreamed  the  hours 
away.  Not  unprofitably,  ])erhaps,  for  he  had  jirrived 
at  the  sensible  resolve  that  he  w^ould  make  no  attempt 
to  win  Scott's  confidence,  but  let  the  man  display 
himself  as  it  pleased  him.  And  was  he  to  spend  the 
hours  as  he  had  spent  the  forenoon,  in  useless  imagin- 
ings and  doleful  picturings  of  his  future  troubles? 
He  took  the  rod  after  dinner  antl  began  to  whip 
the  water  with  an  energy  unnecessary  so  far  as  the 
fish  Avere  concerned,  but  he  wished  to  shoAV  himself 
that  he  was  in  earnest.  He  had  come  to  fish,  hunt 
and  study  thf^  hermit.  The  true  way  to  do  all  this 
was  to  fish,  hunt,  and  study  at  the  })roper  times,  and 
Scott  implied  by  secret  smiling  that  he  conjectured 
his  course  of  thought.  As  fi  consequence,  when 
night  found  them  again  on  the  plateau  in  conyersa- 
tion  the  hermit  was  quite  humorous  and  fluent  and 
inclined  to  talk  of  anything.  When  Florian  made 
bold  to  tell  him  something  of  his  present  sorrows  he 
was  sympathetic. 

"  T  am  afraid  there  is  little  real  warmth  in  ray 
nature,   Scott.     I   contemplate  Linda's  death,   and 


64 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


ii'<! 


Sara's  apostasy,  and  separation  from  Ruth  with  a 
light  degree-  of  sorrow^  and  I  foresee  how  I  shall 
work  all  the  htirder  afterwards." 

"  A  young  man's  feelings,"  said  Scott,  "  are  not 
to  be  depended  on.  Wait  till  all  these  things  hap- 
pen, and  then  you'll  find  how  you'll  take  'em.  It's 
much  like  a  man  in  consumption.  lie  will  die  in 
four  years,  the  doctor  says.  He's  resigned,  and  sur- 
prises himself  by  not  thinking  o'  death  often  at  all. 
"When  death  gets  hold  on  him,  though,  he  finds  his 
former  feelings  weren't  much.  Now,  I  think  your 
Linda  will  die  and  Sara  marry  the  minister,  an'  ye'll 
go  to  New  York  without  Ruth.  An'  it  isn't  so 
much  these  things  that  ought  to  bother  a  man  as  his 
steppin'  out  inter  life  an'  takin'  a  choice  of  labor. 
He  ought  to  see  that  he  got  the  right  place.  He 
ought  to  be  sure  that  he  couldn't  do  better  in  all 
ways  whar  he  is  than  thar.  People  are  hasty 
about  things  of  this  kind.  Money  is  the  object  an' 
high  position.  If  they  get  these,  life  is  complete. 
If  not,  they're  lost.  They  don't  think  much  about 
the  soul.  They  drag  it  anywhere,  quite  sure  it  can 
get  along.  Some  people  there  are  who  will  be 
damned  for  studying  medicine,  an'  they  might  hev 
known  it  before.  An'  political  ambition  will  damn 
others,  jes'  as  I  think  it  will  damn  you." 

"  I  would  like  to  know  your  reasons  for  such  a 
thought,"  said  he. 

"  Mostly  because  your  weakness  will  b'  "*fjy 
well  edicated  and  your  strong  points  let  rur  id  in 
politics,  but  entirely  because  you  are  cut  ou  lor 
another  situation." 

"You  interest  me,"  said  Florian.     "Pray  what 


ON    RETREAT. 


65 


are  the  weaknesses  and  the  stren«^tlis,  ami  the  other 
situation  i " 

"  A  young  man  about  to  make  a  jump  for  such 
big  prizes  ouglit  to  be  ashamed  to  ask  sich  questions 
from  any  man.  Ye  came  here  to  study  yerself.  Do 
it :  I'm  off.  A  pleasant  night  to  you.  FU  not  see 
ve  to-morrow." 

Florian  sat  silent  until  the  sound  of  oars  had  been 
lost  in  the  distance.  It  was  such  a  night  as  the  pre- 
ceedingone  had  been — theeartli  all  darkness,  the  sky 
pierced  with  starlight,  and  a  cool  south  breeze  be- 
ginning to  wake  strange  murmurs  from  the  shore 
and  the  trees.  A  few  clouds  lay  like  shadows  on 
the  horizon,  and  above  and  below  was  that  beautiful 
stillness,  so  beautiful  yet  so  painful,  like  that  which 
lay  about  the  prophet  waiting  on  Horeb's  rock  to 
hear  the  still,  small  voice  of  God.  It  seemed  to 
Florian  that  some  voice  must  be  born  of  such  an 
agony  of  silence ;  perhaps  it  was  born,  and  his  ear 
too  coarse  to  catch  a  sweetness  so 

"  Fine  that  nothing  lived  'twixt  it  and  silence." 

Those  were  sharp  words  the  hermit  had  uttered, 
and  thev  shed  a  new  light  on  the  youth's  mind. 
What  an  idea  was  this,  that  some  men  could  be 
damned  for  studying  medicine  i  Yet  it  was  true,  he 
admitted,  when  he  found  the  proper  sense  of  the 
words.  And  might  not  he  be  placing  himself  in  such 
a  position?  He  was  humbled  to  admit  that,  after 
all,  he  did  not  know  himself  nor  had  studied  the 
every  side  of  his  ambitions.  How  far  was  he  pre- 
pared to  go,  in  seeking  position  and  name  ?  Th(^ 
kingdoms  of  the  world  and  tlie  glory  of  them  were 


'I  i 
I  ''jii 


■MMIBIHI 


(  I 


m» 


66 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


sometimes  easily  bought  by  falling  down  to  adore 
Satan.  How  would  he  withstand  such  a  temptation  ? 
He  hardly  knew,  but  stole  to  bed  crestfallen.  The 
sound  of  the  morning  rain  woke  him  from  a  very 
sweet  sleep,  but  when  that  mournful  patter  reached 
his  ears  the  conversation  of  the  preceding  e'^ening 
recurred  to  him  and  a  desolation  crept  ipon  his 
spirit. 

"  Was  there  another  life  for  which  he  was  better 
fitted?" 

That  other  could  be  but  a  retired  life  in  Clay- 
burgh  with  its  safe  but  respectable  dullness,  and 
Florian  dismissed  it  with  a  savage  snort  as  he  dressed 
himself.  He  felt  instinctively  it  was  no  life  for  him. 
He  got  breakfast,  lit  his  pipe  afterward,  and  sat  in 
the  open  doorway  singing  at  the  mists  that  were 
closing  in  around  him  and  the  melancholy  murmur 
of  the  rain.  How  long  and  how  often  such  a  dismal 
scene  had  been  played  upon  the  island  !  Perhaps  a 
generation  previous  a  group  of  savages  had  sat  in 
their  smoky  wigwams  on  this  very  spot  and  looked 
grimly  on  such  a  rainfall,  making  weird  fancies  out 
of  the  mists  and  preparing  charms  against  ti  eir  fatal 
powers !  And  all  these  were  dead !  Linda  was 
dying !  Old  affections  of  his  heart  were  dying !  The 
very  scene  about  him  was  showing  symptons  of  de- 
cay. In  fifty  years  at  most  he  too  would  be  dead. 
"What  difference  then  between  him  distinguished  and 
influential  and  the  unknown  hermit  ?  Would  wealth 
and  station  and  influence  be  more  than  the  simple 
pleasures  of  the  solitude  ?  And  it  was  a  doubtful 
matter  if  the  statesman  blessed  by  his  country  would 
stand  as  high  as  the  hermit  in  the  esteem  of  God  ? 


ON    RETKEAT. 


67 


Well,  well,  what  queer  thoughts  were  these  in  a 
young  man. 

The  next  day  towards  evening  Scott  made  an 
unlooked  for  appearance  with  a  bright  eye  and  a 
flushed  cheek. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  take  possession  of  the  bed,"  said  he 
"  and  you  must  shift  to  the  floor.     I'm  ill." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Florian,  quite  surprised  that  the 
hermit  should  make  such  an  admission,  but  asking 
no  questions.  Scott  had  taken  cold  and  was  in  a 
fever,  and  the  youth  rejoiced  that  fate  should  have 
thrown  thera  together  at  a  critical  time.  lie  was 
handy  about  a  sick  bed,  woman-like  in  his  gentleness 
and  skill  and  power  over  his  tongue.  He  made  him- 
self master  of  the  situation  at  once  and  proceeded  to 
treat  the  patient  according  to  his  own  ideas.  Had 
he  discovered  the  true  way  of  dealing  with  the  her- 
mit? Scott  made  no  objections  to  anything  he  said 
or  did,  but  seemed  rather  pleased  with  him.  He 
was  sick  until  the  third  dav,  when  he  became  con- 
valescent  and  began  to  turn  to  the  old  routine  of 
cabin-work — meal-preparing,  mending,  and  reading. 
It  was  raining  still  and  the  mists  lay  heavier  on  the 
island  world,  and  Florian  had  by  intense  and  desul- 
tory thinking  wrapped  his  mind  in  mists  so  profound 
that  he  felt  a  positive  de.^ire  to  fly  to  the  town. 
Therefore  on  the  fourth  evening  he  announced  his 
departure  for  the  next  day. 

"  And  I  hope,"  said  Scott,  "  that  you  got  some 
benefit  from  the  close  study  of  yourself,  and  that 
you  can  pretty  well  answer  the  question  ye  asked  me 
when  ye  first  came. 

"  I  shall  go  to  New  York,"  Florian  replied,  "  come 


w 


68 


SOIJTAItY    ISLAND. 


If! 


H' 


:!!i! 


!  i- 


]■ 
i 


what  may.  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  with  much 
thought  hereafter,  for  I  11  nd  it  ct)nfusin(^ ;  and  as  to 
studying  myself,  my  blunders  Avill  do  that,  and  my 
enemies  and  friends." 

'"If  you  wait  to  know  yourself  that  way,  my  lad, 
very  good ;  your  ])olitical  life  will  be  short." 

"  We  must  run  some  risks,  Scott.  Anyway,  I  have 
got  enough  of  solitude,  as  I  have  of  Clayburgh,  and 
I  see  nothing  in  my  strength  oi*  weakness  to  tell 
against  success  in  my  chosen  life.  On  the  contrary 
I  lind  myself  longing  for  it.  I  shall  be  alone,  I  sup- 
pose, and  for  a  time  grief-stricken,  but  life  will  be 
there  and  will  ;  ^vhile  you  will  fish  and  sleep  in  this 
prison  and  groan  over  your  rheumatism.  Before 
going  it  woukl  tickle  my  vanity  to  know  your  esti- 
mate of  my  character,  and  a  hint,  just  a  hint,  of  that 
situation  you  spoke  of  the  other  day."' 

Florian  had  n<j  expectation  of  receiving  an  answer 
to  his  request,  and  turned  to  the  window  through 
^vhich  he  could  see  a  break  in  the  cloudy  sky  and 
the  gleaming  of  a  few  stars.  It  was  a  dreary  scene 
and  his  heart  was  full  of  its  dreariness. 

"  Fm  not  anxious  to  disturb  your  good  feelings," 
said  Scott.  "You  are  bound  for  to  go,  and  your 
blunders  Avill  teach  you  better  than  my  words.  I 
can  fancy  how  vou  won't  know  yourself  ten  years 
from  now,  and  I  proi)ose  that  when  you  go  home  to- 
morrow you  sit  down  and  write  an  account  of  yer 
present  feelings  and  opinions,  and  leave  it  with  me. 
I'll  see  that  you  git  it  to  read  ten  years  from  date. 
You'll  be  surprised." 

"  Done,"  saitl  Florian  eagerly,  delighted  beyond 
measure  at  this  evidence  of  the  hermit's  interest 


ox    r.ETIiEAT. 


69 


in  him.  "  I'll  make  it  minute  in  essentials,  my 
friend." 

"I  s'pose.  All  the  worse  for  you  an'  maybe 
you'll  not  be  astonished  and  ashamed  readin'  that 
paper  in  days  to  come.  1  had  an  idee  of  a  man 
gentle  and  quiet,  whose  mind  was  jes'  like  the  water 
on  a  still  night,  deep,  clear,  sweet,  and  full  o'  heaven 
an'  the  bright  pints  in  it ;  who'd  settle  d(jwn  to  a 
steady,  pious,  thinkin'  life,  writin'  line  things  for 
other  people  to  read,  comin'  nearer  to  God  every 
year  and  bringin'  others  along  with  him,  till  he'd  be 
so  ripe  for  heaven  as  to  fall  into  it  from  this  world, 
jes'  as  natural  as  a  ripe  apple  falls  to  the  ground.  I 
had  that  idee,  but  it's  gone ;  and  I  mentioned  it  jest 
to  show  ye  what  a  stranger  thought  o'  ye." 

"  I'll  put  that  down  too,"  said  Florian,  thought- 
fully, "  and  it  might  be  interesting  to  read  at  the 
same  time  as  the  other.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you, 
indeed  ;  but  it  doesn't  suit,  and  never  would." 

That  was  the  end  of  the  conversation.  The  hermit 
and  Florian  retired  to  rest  with  their  usual  indiffer- 
ence to  each  other  and  in  their  usual  silence  ;  but 
the  youth  was  so  charmed  at  his  fancied  success  in 
winning  the  solitary's  interest  that  he  fell  asleep 
thinking  of  it,  and  dreamed  that  the  honest  man  rose 
in  the  night,  and  stooping  over  his  bed  kissed  him 
gently  two  or  three  times,  as  his  father  might.  He 
was  weeping,  for  the  tears  fell  in  a  shower  on  Florian's 
face,  which  set  the  youth  to  laughing,  he  knew  not 
why.  At  this  he  W()k(\  Everything  was  still  save 
the  patter  of  the  rain  on  the  roof,  while  the  hermit 
was  sleeping  gently  as  a  child. 


f 


I 


f! 


CHAPTER  VI. 


DEATH. 

Flobian  found  a  suspicious  lull  resting  on  the 
home  atmosphere  of  Clay  burgh.  Linda  was  quiet 
and  happy,  to  judge  from  her  manner  and  look. 
But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  sudden  agony  that 
seized  him  as  he  kissed  her  on  his  return.  The  blood 
leaped  to  his  head  in  a  blinding  wa}',  the  tears 
pressed  like  a  torrent  to  his  eyes,  but  only  a  few 
drops  fell,  and  dry  sobs  struggled  in  his  throat  and 
boGom.  Did  she  understand  the  cause  of  such  emo- 
tion ?  A  tender  look  on  her  pale  face,  a  shadow  in 
the  sweet  eyes  that  threatened  at  once  to  dim  them 
forever,  were  what  had  taken  a  way  his  self-command 
so  violently ;  and,  as  if  it  were  but  natural  that  he 
should  so  act,  she  drew  his  head  to  her  breast,  and 
placing  her  cheek  against  his  soft  hair,  smoothed  it 
with  her  delicate  hand  until  the  storm  of  grief  had 
spent  itself.  When  he  looked  up  again  both  under- 
stood one  another  perfectly — Linda  knew  at  last  that 
she  was  dying ! 

"  How  is  Scott  ? "  said  she.  "  I  have  done  nothing 
but  dream  of  him  since  you  left." 

"  He  sent  you  his  ver}'  best  esteem,"  said  Florian, 

"  and  is  to  call  on  you  soon,  and  all  the  flowers  and 

herbs  and  grasses  the  islands  afford  are  to  be  sent 

you.    You  have  charmed  him,  Linda." 

'*  I  do  not  know  why  he  has  been  so  much  in  my 

70 


i 


DEATH. 


n 


thoughts  lately,  but  his  red  beard  and  keen  eyes  have 
haunted  me  pleasantly  for  two  weeks.  Probably 
because  you  were  there  with  him.  And  what  did 
he  say  to  3^ou  ?     You  know  you  promised  to  tell." 

"  He  told  me,  very  much  like  a  fortune-teller,  that 
I  was  cut  out  for  a  quiet  life,  and  litted  to  write 
beautiful  things  for  the  million.  And  when  I  told 
him  my  tastes  ran  in  any  direction  but  that,  he  said 
many  people  are  damned  for  studying  medicine  or 
taking  up  politics,  and  he  thought  I  would  be  too." 

Linda's  old  nature,  though  softened  by  illness, 
'ose  up  at  this  declaration  and  she  laughed  herself 
into  a  fit  of  coughing. 

"  Well,  well !  what  an  idea,"  she  said.  "  But  it  is 
true  in  part.  There  are  less  temptations  in  such  a 
life  as  this  than  in  the  life  of  a  public  man.  Florian, 
I  want  to  be  so  sure  of  meeting  you  again  that  what- 
ever you  choose  be  faithful  to  our  religion  and  true 
to  God,  and  never  forget  Linda.  I  don't  care  where 
I  would  be,  I  think  I  would  feel  so  unhappy  if  you 
and  I  were  not  to  meet  again." 

He  could  say  nothing,  but  clasped  her  hand 
gently. 

"  And  what  were  your  own  thoughts  i "  she  asked. 
"  How  did  you  follow  out  your  idea  of  a  retreat  i  " 

"  You  remember  the  crowd  we  saw  at  the  re- 
vival camp-meeting  i  I  have  been  in  the  condition 
of  that  crowd  since  I  left,  all  turmoil  and  excitement, 
and  my  solitude  put  on  so  loud  a  jiersonality  before 
I  left  that  I  was  less  at  home  than  in  a  ball-room. 
I  got  enough  of  the  wilderness.     I  prefer  a  prison." 

She  shook  her  head  deprecatingly. 

"  y"ou  made  a  blunder  somewhere.     You  had  no 


72 


ROLITAfvY   ISLAND. 


'i 


system.  You  wer(3  j^rejudiced  from  the  beginning. 
Well,  no  matter." 

Florian  grew  suddenly  unensy.  lie  had  some- 
thing to  say,  and  could  not  command  himself  to  say 
it.     She  saw  his  emotion  and  understood  it. 

"  You  must  not  think,''  she  said, "  that  I  am  afraid 
or  very  sorry  to  die,  and  it"  you  have  anything  to 
say  you  must  be  very  frank  with  nu>.*' 

"  While  we  are  together,  Linda  " — how  very  dear 
that  name  had  become  to  him,  that  he  hung  on  it  as 
if  it  were  sweetest  nmsic  ! — "  whatever  M'ish  you 
have  concerning  me  1  would  lilce  to  know  and  fol- 
low it." 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  soon  enough,"  she  said,  and 
for  the  time  she  was  too  weary  to  s))eak  more.  He 
sat  beside  her  holding  her  dear  hands  and  looking 
into  the  pallid  face.  The  changes  made  by  death 
were  very  painful.  It  had  robbed  them  of  the  dear 
girl  even  before  the  soul  had  fled,  for  this  was  no 
more  the  Linda  of  old  times  than  a  stranger.  She 
fell  asleep  soon,  and  he  saw  how  comj)letely  death 
had  seized  her.  The  hollow  eyes  and  parted  mouth, 
the  wasted  hands,  the  feeble  but  labored  respiration, 
were  all  elocjucMit  of  death.  She  slept  svreetly,  in- 
deed, so  sweetly  that  he  could  not  help  saying  the 
angels  were  roujul  her ;  but  her  eyos  were  only  closed 
in  part  and  it  awed  him  to  see  how  she  seemed  to 
look  on  him  with  her  senses  lockctl  in  slundjer.  And 
this  was  death  !  Ami  just  like  this  one  day  he 
would  be,  pale  and  hoju'less  and  hel})lessand  forsaken, 
the  most  neglected  and  the  most  respected  of  his 
kind,  his  uselessness  j)rotected  in  the  sight  of  man 
by  the  overstepping  majesty  of  death. 


i  i-    i 


DEATH. 


78 


The  day  after  his  return  Linda  remained  in  bed, 
and  to  her  mother's  inquiry  re})lied  that  she  would 
never  rise  again,  Mrs.  Winifred  accepted  the  posi- 
tion in  her  (juiet  way,  but  her  silent  despair  brought 
the  tears  into  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  There  is  no  pain  in  dying,"  she  whispered,  "  but 
in  leavin*":  vou,  mother.'' 

From  that  moment  she  l)egan  to  fade  so  gently 
that  it  seemed  as  if  an  angel,  incapable  of  sutfering, 
had  come  in  her  ])lace  to  die.  Florian  did  not  leave 
her  day  or  night.  Ruth  was  often  there,  and  Sara, 
her  father,  and  the  strong-voiced  Squire,  for  she 
liked  to  see  them  all  about  her  as  in  earlier,  happier 
times,  and  to  hear  their  jokes  and  bright  sayings 
and  pleasant  gossi]),  and  to  imagine  that  she  was 
just  going  to  fall  asleep  for  a  little  while,  and,  wak- 
ing again,  would  iind  them  all  just  as  she  had  left 
them.  Every  day  came  a  bunch  of  forest  tr(\-  .ares 
from  the  hermit,  mosses  and  rare  leaves  and  bright 
red  berries.  He  did  not  come  himself,  but  her  bed 
was  so  ])laced  that  she  had  a  full  view  of  the  bay 
and  the  islands,  and  often  saw  his  canoe  or  yacht 
fiitting  from  one  point  to  another.  In  the  lonely 
nights  Florian  and  Mrs.  Winifred  sat  alone  in  the 
room,  dimly  lighted  by  the  night  lamp,  and  talked 
or  read  to  her  in  her  waking  hours.  When  it  be- 
came ])ainful  for  her  to  speak  at  length,  she  con- 
tented herself  with  watching  him  for  hours,  as  if 
studying  out  some  dilticult  jn'oblem. 

''  Florian  I " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"You  will  be  very  much  afraid  to  die." 

"  I  trust  not,  Linda." 


74 


SOLITAHY   ISLAND. 


i 


I 


"  But  you  will,  I  know,  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that 
it  is  not  as  hard  as  we  imagine.  Only  be  good,  do 
good,  and  it  will  be  very  easy." 

"  I  shall  try  with  my  whole  heart,  Linda." 

"  You  will  not  marry  Kuth  ?  She  is  good, 
Florian." 

"  How  can  I,"  he  replied  with  some  bitterness, 
"  when  my  own  good  sense  and  hers,  and  P6re  Rou- 
gevin,  are  opposed  to  it  ?  If  she  be  not  a  Catholic 
I  must  be  a  Protestant. 

"  You  will  not  forget,  Linda,  that  you  are  to  tell  me 
your  wishes  before — before You  said  you  would. 

"  I  only  want  to  be  sure  of  meeting  you  all  again," 
she  said.  "  You  are  very  good,  Florian,  now.  Prom- 
ise me  you  will  never  grow  worse,  only  better  ;  that 
you  will  never  cease  to  think  as  you  think  now ; 
that  you  will  always  remember  Linda." 

"  Is  that  all,  dear  ? "  he  answered,  with  something 
like  reproach. 

"  All ! "  she  repeated.  "  Oh  the  old,  old  spirit  of 
confidence.     If  you  do  that,  Flory,  if  you  do  that 

much "  She  ended  with  a  smile,  and  after  a  little 

added :  "  Be  careful  of  Sara ;  be  kind  to  her,  and 
save  her  if  you  can." 

Those  were  almost  her  last  words  to  him.  Early 
the  next  morning  Pere  Eougevin  anointed  her  and 
gave  her  the  Viaticum,  the  whole  family  and  Ruth 
being  present.  Around  the  house  that  day  fell  the 
heavy  curtains  of  death,  invisible  yet  felt,  shedding 
everywhere  a  funeral  sadness.  In  her  white  cham- 
ber she  lay  with  half  closed  eyes  drinking  in  the 
colors  of  the  scenes  she  had  so  tenderly  loved.  The 
end  was  very  near — so  near  that  at  any  moment  the 


DEATH. 


75 


light  might  fade  from  her  face  and  the  gentle  breath- 
ing cease.  Out  on  the  blue  waters  the  western  sun 
was  shining  in  a  long  bar  of  light  broken  often  by 
the  passing  clouds,  3'et  shining  out  every  moment 
just  as  bright  as  before ;  and  this  shifting  movement 
of  the  light  occupied  her  attention.  ^Mrs.  Winifred 
alone  was  with  her.  In  her  meek  way  she  supplied 
her  needs  and  silently  anticipated  her  simple  wishes, 
and  was  so  rapt  in  her  dying  child  that  she  did  not  hear 
the  knock  at  the  door  without  or  its  repetition,  or 
the  steps  which  ascended  the  stairs,  and  entering  the 
room  in  a  quiet  but  abrupt  way,  suddenly  presented 
to  her  the  uncouth  hermit.  Mrs.  AVinif  red  was  rather 
exasperating  on  such  occasions.  She  was  frightened 
and  her  face  showed  it ;  nevertheless  she  made  no 
sign,  and  was  meeker  than  usual  when  Scott  rather 
imperiously  waved  her  aside  and  took  Linda's  hand 
in  his  own. 

So  it  happened  Florian  found  him  half  an  hour 
later  in  the  same  position  when  Mrs.  "Winifred  came 
to  hurry  them  all  to  the  death-room — for  death-room 
now  it  had  become,  since  Linda  lay  like  an  infant  in 
the  arms  of  the  king  at  last.  At  last  and  forever ! 
There  was  no  recall,  no  further  hope.  The  girl's 
face  bore  a  new  expression,  the  seal  which  God  first 
placed  on  Abel's  young  face,  the  protest  of  the  body 
and  the  soul  against  sin's  merited  punishment,  the 
reflected  light  from  the  torch  of  death !  Florian 
took  her  left  hand  and  gazed  composedly  on  her  face. 
There  was  something  strange  in  her  manner  ;  a 
strange  glory  or  triumph  rested  on  her  lips  ;  there 
was  more  color  and  fire  in  her  cheeks  and  eyes; 
and  now  she  turned  from  Scott  to  him  and  back 


»■; 


I'l 


76 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


I 


:  I 


' 


M; 


again,  looking  like  one  iiungry  beyond  words  to  tell, 
and  looking  yet  again  until  death  suddenly  caught 
her  weak  bi'eath  and  carried  it  to  eternity  and  God. 
It  was  the  first  day  of  November,  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  with  the  sun  shining  on  the  river  and 
great  clouds  rising  in  the  east,  that  Linda  died. 

A  month  after  Lintla's  burial  it  was  snowing,  and 
you  could  not  see  the  houses  on  the  next  street.  It 
promised  to  bo  a  heavy  snow-storm,  not  unusual  for 
that  district,  and  the  dwellers  by  the  river  settled 
themselves  comfortably  for  six  months  at  their  warm 
firesides.  The  Wallace  home  was  gloomy  and  dis- 
ordered. Florian  in  his  own  room  was  busy  packing 
clothes  and  books  for  an  immediate  departure  to 
New  York,  and  he  was  working  with  feverish  haste 
and  unnecessary  care.  A  knock  at  the  door  inter- 
rupted him  and  his  mother  entered  at  his  bidding, 
calm  as  usual  and  the  hair  smoothly  arranged  over 
her  placid  cheeks.  She  was  nervous,  however,  and 
distressed.  Did  he  know  what  had  become  of  Sara? 
It  was  rumored  that  she  was  married  to  Mr.  Buck 
the  preceding  evening.  Mr.  Wallace  had  heard  it  just 
then  in  town.  Florian  could  not  but  smile  at  Mrs. 
Winifred's  calm  acceptance  of  the  ridiculous  facts, 
and  thought  she  must  have  perceived  their  absurdity. 

"  She  went  to  Ruth's,  probably,"  said  ho.  "  And 
who  would  blame  her  for  leaving  so  lonely  a  house  ? 
But  as  to  the  story,  don't  you  trouble  yourself  with 
such  nonsense." 

Mrs.  Winifred,  however,  did  not  like  to  think  it 
nonsense  any  more  than  she  liked  to  doubt  Florian'a 
conclusion. 


DEATH. 


7T 


"  Does  father  believe  it  i  "  said  Florian. 

"  lie  is  goinf^  to  inquire  of  Mr.  Buck  himself, 
seemingly.  If  the  minister  denies  it,  he  will  come 
back;  but  if  he  docs  not,  Mr.  Wallace  will  smash 
and  cut  everything  in  his  way." 

"  Let  him,"  said  Florian  grimly.  "  If  it  bo  true, 
I'll  second  liim.  Then,  paying  the  damages  will 
teach  him  si'nse." 

Mrs.  Winifred  sighed  and  cast  a  meek  lonl.  at  the 
trunks  and  boxes  scattered  through  the  roum. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going,  mother,  at  last,"  said  he. 
"There  is  nothing  here  to  hold  mc,  is  there?  And 
as  soon  as  I  get  settled  I  shall  take  Sara  to  keep 
house  for  me  until  she  gets  over  her  folly.  I  would 
prefer  her  following  Linda  than  Mr.  Buck.  A 
monument  is  more  satisfactory  over  one  than  an 
Episcopal  meeting-house,  even  if  it  is " 

He  kicked  things  around  noisily  and  drowned  the 
short,  sharp  burst  of  grief  that  followed  his  sarcasm. 
The  door-knocker  was  going  vigorously  when  silence 
was  restored.  Mrs.  Winifred  hastened  to  admit  the 
callers.  Her  voice  was  strangely  agitated  as  a  mo- 
ment later  she  called  Florian  to  the  }>urlur.  He 
found  her  pale  and  trembling  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
and  shaking  as  if  with  ague. 

"  It's  true,"  she  repeated.     "  ()  Linda  ! " 

"  What's  true  i "  said  Florian  roughly,  as  he  threw 
open  the  door  violently  and  strode  in  frowning. 
Mr.  Buck  was  there  as  painfully  correct  in  costume 
as  ever,  and  beside  him  Sara  languishing  in  her 
mourning  robes.  One  glance  was  enough,  but  Flo- 
rian pretended  not  to  understand. 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  but  fair,"  said  Mr.  Buck, 


IP 

'■I 


78 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


' 


"  to  let  you  know  of  the  relations  which  now  exist 
between  your  sister  and  myself.  "NVe  were  married 
last  evening  at  the  rectory  in  presence  of  the  officials 
and  the  leading  members  of  my  church,  who  under- 
stand the  peculiar  circumstances  which  led  to  the 
ceremony  at  so  sad  and  unfavorable  a  time." 

"  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  waited,"  said 
Florian,  aping  a  calmness  he  did  not  feel ;  "  but  I 
am  not  surprised,  nor  will  any  one  be,  I  presume, 
with  whom  you  are  acquainted.  My  sister  is  of  age. 
"We  have  done  our  best  to  prevent  what  in  itself  is 
undesirable.  Am  I  to  understand  that  Mrs.  Buck 
in  adopting  your  name  has  also  adopted  your  par- 
ticular religious  views  I " 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Buck,  vacantly. 
He  was  not  prepared  for  so  cool  a  reception.  "  Mrs. 
Buck  expressly  stipulated  that  she  should  be  allowed 
to  attend  her  own  church  on  alternate  Sundavs,  and 
after  consultation  with  friends  it  was  allowed." 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Sara,"  said  Florian  sadly, 
for  this  smote  cruelly  on  his  heart.  "  "We  have  done 
our  duty  towards  you.  I  hope  you  will  be  happy. 
I  am  going  to-morrow  for  good,  so  good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  Sara,  shedding  a  few  tears.  Her 
shallow  soul  was  beginning  to  see  that  her  brother's 
generous  nature  and  high  motives  had  been  sadly 
misunderstood. 

"  I  was  intending  to  bring  you  with  me,"  Florian 
continued  smiling,  "  and  have  you  preside  over  my 
house  ;  but  that  plan  must  be  laid  aside.  You  will 
excuse  me  now,  Mr.  Buck ;  I  am  busy." 

The  incident  had  a  depressing  effect  on  Florian 
beyond  the  power  of  words  to  tell.    He  had  mas- 


:l 


DKATH. 


79 


tcred  himself  very  thoroughly  at  a  trying  moment, 
but  physical  weakness  added  itself  to  his  mental  des- 
olation, and  left  this  new  sorrow  vei-y  hard  to  bear. 
His  packing  was  ended  before  night,  however,  and, 
having  despatched  his  boxes  to  the  depot,  he  went 
on  foot  around  the  bay  to  Squire  Pendleton's.  T\w 
Squire  was  in  his  study  smoking,  and  listened  to 
Florian's  tale  with  much  commiseration  and  delight. 

"  It's  a  great  pity  your  father  didn't  meet  them," 
said  he.  "  It's  a  reflection  on  the  family  to  have 
such  a  goose  in  it.  Here,  Ruth,  come  in  and  hear 
the  news." 

Ruth  came  to  the  door  at  her  father's  shout. 

"  You  couldn't  guess,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Sara's 
gone  an'  done  it  at  last ;  married  the  parson  last 
night." 

Ruth  was  shocked  so  violently  that  she  grew  quite 
pale,  and  stammered  out : 

"  I  knew  they  would  marry,  but  Linda's  death,  I 
thought,  would  make  a  difference.     Poor  Linda ! " 

"  That  hurt  me  most,"  said  Florian,  with  a  wan 
smile ;  "  but  it  was  done  very  respectably.  The 
whole  congregation  was  called  in  and  consulted.  If 
they  did  not  marry  then,  while  we  were  taken  up 
with  sorrow,  it  might  become  impossible  to  marry 
at  all.  The  circumstances  as  they  saw  them  justified 
the  action. 

"I  am  going  to-morrow,"  he  added.  He  was 
glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  speaking  to  Ruth 
alone,  and  of  discovering,  possibly,  whether  fate  had 
any  more  stones  to  throw  at  him. 

"  I  knew  you  could  not  endure  life  here,"  she  re- 
plied with  much  feeling,  "  after  so  many  sorrows." 


I 


80 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  The  one  thing  I  most  regret  is  that  I  cannot 
bring  you  with  me,  Ruth.  Vou  must  know,"  he 
went  on  hurrieuiy,  "  that  a  very  little  time  should 
decide  for  you  and  me  whether  we  part  or  unite 
forever.  In  a  year,  if  you  say  it,  I  will  come  back 
for  you,  Ruth." 

"I  fear  I  can  never  say  it,"  she  answered  quite 
calmly  ;  "  ami  I  fear  too,  we  have  been  wrong  in  ex- 
pecting confidently  what  it  is  God's  alone  to  give. 
I  have  studied  your  faith,  and  I  find  I  have  a  liking 
for  it.  It  is  beautiful  indeed,  but  it  does  not  seem 
to  me  to  be  the  true  one." 

Fate  had  tlirown  its  last  missile.  He  was  unable 
to  speak  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  There  is  a  year  yet,"  he  said  at  length ;  "  you 
can  decide  better  at  the  end  of  that  time,  perhaps." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  repeated.  She  was  very  calm, 
simply  because  she  had  gone  over  this  scene  many  a 
time  in  the  past  few  months.  "  But  I  think  it  would 
be  better  to  end  now." 

He  was  so  pale  when  she  looked  at  him  that  her 
good  sense  faltered. 

"  Have  we  ever  really  loved  each  other  I  "  said  he 
brokenly.  "  Do  you  know,  Ruth,  that  if  you  per- 
sist we  shall  never  meet  again." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  she.  "  I  will  wait  for  a  year, 
if  you  wish.  We  have  been  always  under  a  restric- 
tion, you  know,  and  I  feel  as  if  it  made  truth  harder 
for  me  to  learn,  because  you  were  to  be  the  reward 
of  my  lesson." 

"  I  release  you,"  he  said,  rising.  "  I  release  you, 
Ruth,  from  any  obligation  to  me.  You  are  right — 
you  always  were.     Good-bye — forever." 


I 


DEATH. 


81 


They  shook  hands,  and  with  this  simple  ceremony 
his  first  love  ended,  AVas  he  teni})ted  to  go  back  to 
his  paradise  and  take  lier  as  she  stood,  difference  of 
faith  included  ?  The  thought  did  occur  to  him,  as 
would  the  thought  of  flying.  "With  a  sad  smile  at 
its  impossibility  he  faced  the  dying  storm.  His  feet 
turned  unconsciously  to  the  grave  in  the  churchyard, 
and  falling  upon  it,  he  moaned : 

*'  O  Linda  i  all  our  good  fortune  \v'>nt  with  you." 

"  Not  all,"  said  the  hermit's  voice   i.-ar  by. 

lie  looked  up  and  saw  Scott.  lie  was  covered  with 
the  falling  snow,  and  must  have  been  out  long  in  the 
storm.  Feeling  ashamed  of  such  a  display  of  weak- 
ness, Florian  rose  and  staggered  away  in  silence. 
AVhat  the  hermit  never  before  <lid  he  did  then — 
stopj)ed  the  youth  and  held  him. 

"  You're  not  vourself,  mv  lad,"  he  said,  with  a 
touch  of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "  And  I  am  told 
you're  goin'  away  to-morrow." 

"Yes,"  said  Florian,  "to-morrow.  Thank  God! 
I'm  done  with  this  jilace  forever.  There  is  nothing 
here  foi*  me  but  graves.  You  see,  Scott,  I  have  lost 
them  all — Linda,  Sara,  and  Ruth.  And  the  one 
nearest  to  me — isn't  it  strange  ? — is  the  little  girl  in 
her  grave.  Yea,  i  .ni  going,  and  I  wish  it  was 
morning  and  the  viiole  ])lace  out  of  my  thoughts  for 
good.     I  don'i  care  if  I  were  dead." 

"  There's  a  difference  between  dead  and  dying," 
said  Scott  grimly.  '*  You'd  soon  change  your  mind 
if  death  caujrht  vou.     You  fortrot  to  jiive  me  that 


pa})er 

"  I'll  write  it  this  very  night,"  Florian  answered  ; 
"  my  last  will  and   testament  of  the  oh'   iife,  and 


In  f  (1 


m 


i^  I 


82 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


then  hurrah  for  the  new.  God  I  how  completely 
we  can  be  torn  up  from  the  roots  and  transplanted 
in  new  soil." 

"  Bosh !  "  said  Scott.  "  You  kin  no  more  git  rid  of 
the  old  life  than  of  yourself.  You'll  think  of  all  these 
things  for  years,  an'  you'll  lind  them  tlireo  women,  an' 
the  water,  an'  islands,  an'  boats,  an'  things,  twistin'  in 
your  thoughts  and  ])rom})tin'  your  will  unul  yer  dead 
— almost.     You're  a  leeile  apt  to  get  sentimental." 

Florian  said  nothing,  a  sudden  daze  came  over  his 
senses  and  he  leaned  heavily  against  the  liermit,  with 
his  face  u])turned  to  the  snow-cloudod  sky  ;  and  it 
so  happened  that  the  hermit's  beard  brushed  his 
chin  and  the  weather-beaten  cheek  lay  for  an  instant 
against  his  own. 

"  Faintin',  hey,"  said  Scott.  "  You'll  have  a  spell 
of  sickness." 

"Not  at  all.  I  was  thinking  of  Linda's  last 
words.  They  are  a  good  motto  as  well  as  a  prayer : 
'  That  we  may  meet  again.'  Good-night,  Scott,  and 
good-bye.  As  usual,  you  are  right.  The  old  life 
shall  not  out  for  the  new." 

Ke  went  hurriedlv  down  the  road. 


CHAPTER  VIT. 


A    BOHEMIAN. 


The  attic  chamber  of  Madame  De  Ponsonby 
Lynch's  fashionable  boanling-house  liad  one  window 
with  a  view  of  all  the  back  windows  of  the  neigh))or- 
ing  block  in  its  panes  and  a  strip  of  exceedingly 
plain  sky  above.  On  clear  days  the  North  River 
,vas  in  sight,  but  at  other  times  nothing  till  night 
came  and  stars  or  moon  throw  a  glamour  over  the 
scene.  Moonlight  falling  on  the  staring  backs  of 
tenement-houses  is  not  a  thrilling  sight ;  but  shim- 
mering through  the  attic  window,  faintly  lighting 
up  its  meager  furniture,  mixing  lights  and  sluulows 
fancifully  until  the  narrow  space  becomes  a  stately 
castle-hall — then  the  moonlight  is  a  blessing.  It  had 
that  effect  in  this  j)articular  attic,  and,  although  the 
air  was  cold  enough  to  show  the  breath  floating  on 
it,  where  the  light  fell  it  looked  warm,  and  almost 
persuaded  Paul  Rossiter  that  he  was  warm  and  luid 
not  sense  enough  to  know  it.  A  spectral  bed  with 
a  white  coverlet  stood  in  one  corner,  a  chair  and 
desk  littered  with  ])apers  in  another,  and  a  stove  sat 
reproachfully  in  the  middle  place,  cohler  than  the 
moonlight  and  darkly  j)ensive.  It  had  an  apologetic 
air  that  it  should  be  there  at  all  on  a  cold  night 
when  a  stove  has  most  to  say  and  do  in  this  world,  and 
be  as  silent  and  moody  as  Othello  with  his  occupation 
gone.    There  was  one  picture  on  the  wall,  otherwise 

99 


m 


84 


SOLITAUV    ISLAND. 


bare.  Some  clothes  hung  on  the  rack  stretched  across 
the  door.  These  and  the  moonlight  were  all  Paul 
Rossiter's  possessions,  and  he  surveyed  them  cheer- 
fully while  blowing  his  cold  fingers  and  drumming  his 
cold  feet  on  thetluor.  lie  was  writing,  jind  writing 
was  food  and  heat  to  him — that  is,  when  his  manu- 
scripts Avere  exchangeable  for  silver.  Unfortunately 
they  did  not  always  have  that  ju-ojjerty.  A  sudden 
and  imperil  tive  knock  at  the  door  startled  him. 

"  Open  the  door,  b'y,''  said  a  rough,  deep,  middle- 
aged  voice  outside.  "  I  knowye're  in,  sure  the  key's 
in  the  door.  It's  me,  I'eter,  and  I  have  something 
to  tell  ye." 

A  long  silence  succeeded  this  outburst. 

"No  aamission  to  P(?ter!"  said  the  voice  in  a 
mock  soliloquy.  "  Then,  as  sure's  me  name's  Carter 
ril  expose  ye.  D'ye  think  I  don't  know  why  you 
an^  keeping  me  out,  hey  'i  D'ye  think  I  don't  know 
yc've  no  lire,  or— — " 

There  was  :\  sudden  hurrying  of  feet,  and  in  an 
instant  the  voice,  or  Peter  Carter,  as  he  called  him- 
self, was  violently  pulled  into  the  I'oom.  The  lamp 
which  he  carried  went  out  in  the  roughnes,  of  the 
encounter. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  blazon  me  idl  through  the  house," 
said  I'aul  hotlv  ;   "  do  vou " 

"  There  was  no  other  way  of  getting  in,"  said 
Peter;  "and  then  ye  needn't  be  so  p.'oud,  Not  a 
soul  but  knows  the  poor  young  man  in  the  attic  is 
as  poor  as  the  j)oetry  he  writes?,  an'  fi'eezes  as  often 
as  he  composes  !  Not  that  they  respect  ye  any  the 
less,  for  if  ye  were  rich  as  Cra'sus  a  po(>t's  a  hybrid 
thing  in  New  York.     \M  me  light  the  lamp." 


A   BOHEMIAN. 


85 


Peter  havin;,^  ])orf()rined  this  operation  success- 
fully, relit  liis  ))i[)e  and  sat  down  in  the  glare  of  the 
light,  composed  and  ha|)py.  lie  was  a  short,  stout, 
bow-legged  man  of  fifty,  witli  a  bullet  head  and  a 
moon-like  face.  Ilis  hair,  short  and  gray,  stood 
straight  as  quills,  his  under  lip  protruded,  a  scar 
half-way  between  tip  and  bridge  of  his  pug  nose 
gave  that  feature  of  his  face  an  ugly  prominence,  but 
his  eyes  were  large  and  blue  and  sharp  looking,  and 
would  have  been  handsome  but  for  the  smoky  eye- 
balls. Peter's  general  ap])eai'ance  wastliat  of  a  red- 
faced,  hearty  farmer  given  to  social  courtesies  and 
rolling  iu  hapjnness.  lie  was  round-limbed  and 
round-bodied,  rolled  in  his  walk  like  a  sailor,  was 
fond  of  a  good  song,  a  good  story,  and  a  good  glass 
of  punch.  He  took  his  seat,  smiling  at  the  angry, 
yet  half-amused  face,  which  Paul  had  turned  on  him. 

"  Pe  (Jeorge,  Paul,"  he  said,  with  a  malevolent 
grin,  "  but  ye' re  the  very  spit  of  a  ])oet,  with  your 
long,  vellow  hair,  and  blue  eves  an'  melancholv  face! 
An't  ye,  b'y  I  It's  nice  to  look  at  ye,  it  is.  An'  sure 
it's  not  mad  ye  are?  Ye  mightn't  have  let  me  in 
if  ye  didn't  want  to  !  I  don't  ask  to  come  inter  your 
old  freezing  room  wIumi  I  have  one  myself  twice  as 
good  an'  wai-m.     I'll  go  now,  if  ye  say  so.'' 

lie  made  a  ])retended  start  and  flourish  with  his 
legs,  but  did  not  move,  and  his  jovial  leer  failing  to 
charm  the  frown  from  the  yoimg  man's  face,  he  grew 
indignant. 

"  AVdl,  stav  mad  if  veare  so.  What  the  divil  do 
I  care  for  you  or  your  nuulness  i  D'ye  s'pose  I  owe 
anything  to  you  or  to  the  likes  o'  ye  ?  Not  a  snap 
of  me  finger,  ye  half-starved  verse-molder." 


"Sf" 


86 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Ill 


"  But  it's  too  bad,  Peter/'  said  the  poet,  "  that 
you  should  let  the  whole  house  know  I  had  no 
wood- 


»5 


"  Ah,  bother,  man  !  What  d'ye  care  for  the  whole 
house,  or  the  whole  block,  or  the  whole  city !  Sure 
tliey  know  it  already.  And  it's  your  own  fault  that 
ye  haven't  wood  and  candles  !  Plenty  o'  money, 
b'y,  in  this  old  sheepskin  o'  mine !  Call  on  Peter  any 
time  you  are  in  want  o'  fifty  dollars,  an'  it's  yours. 
Plenty  o'  money  all  over  the  world,  plenty  to  eat  at 
Madame  Lynch's. 

Never  think  of  to  morrow  : 
With  a  smile  banisli  sorrow." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Paul  gravely,  "  that  I 
would  borrow  a  little  from  you  " — Peter  looked 
suddenly  indifferent — "  and  if  you  could  let  me  have 
five  dollars  to  buy  some  wood  and  necessaries  I 
wouldn't  mind." 

"  Wood  and  necessaries,"  mocked  Peter  gayly — 
"  nice  things  for  a  young  man  like  you,  with  strong- 
muscles  and  warm  blood,  to  be  thinkin'  of.  I  tell  ye 
you  are  twice  healthier  in  a  room  like  this  than  if  ye 
had  a  stove  blazing  up  to  heaven.  And  candles  hurt 
the  eyes  !  Ye  shouldn't  read  after  daylight,  or  use 
tiie  eyes  at  all.  See,  now  ^  Doctor  Brown  says  that 
the  man  who  uses  his  eyes " 

"  That  isn't  the  point,"  Paul  interrupted.  *'  1  asked 
you  for  five  dollars." 

"  Doctor  Brown  snys  that  the  man " 


"  No,  no ;  stick  to  the  point,  Peter ;  will  you  lend 
me  the  five  dollars  ? " 
"  Lend  ve  five  dollars  ?  "  said  Peter,  with  a  surlv 


A    BOHEMIAN. 


87 


air.  "  Ye're  mighty  anxious  to  run  in  debt,  ain't 
ye  ?  An'  I'd  look  well  lendin'  a  man  money  that 
can't  pay  Madame  Lynch  his  board.  I  have  enough 
to  do  to  support  meself .  (to  and  write  for  the  news- 
papers something  ])lain  an'  sensible  on  the  Know- 
nothings  or — or — Ireland — there's  a  grand  subject  for 
ye — an'  leave  off  reading  an'  writing  stuif !  There's 
a  pattern  for  ye  on  the  first  floor — the  young  lawyer, 
only  been  in  the  city  a  year,  is  spoken  of  for  Assem- 
blyman already.  He  looks  like  ye,  every  one  says 
so.     May  be  you  are  related  i " 

Paul  sat  eying  his  companion  with  amused  dis- 
dain. 

"  I  heard  the  assertion  made  about  the  lawyer's 
likeness  to  me,"  said  he,  "  but  I  have  never  seen  him. 
Now  let  us  see  how  much  of  a  resemblance  there  is 
between  us.  I  have  yellow  haii*,  blue  eyes,  light 
complexion  ;  wiuit  has  he  ( " 

"  Brown  hair,  brown  eyes,  and  light  complexion," 
said  Peter  hesitatingly. 

"  I  wear  a  mustache,  and  mv  nose  is  Grecian  as 
well  as  my  face." 

"  He  wears  a  full,  short  beard,  and  his  nose  is 
straight,  if  that's  what  you  call  (irecian,  Paul." 

"  Where's  the  resemblance,  then  T' 

"  I  don't  kn<nv  ;  I  don't  think  there's  any.  When 
you  come  to  particulars  you  have  us  all.  I  thought 
you  might  like  to  know  him.  Be  George,  Paul  I  he 
might  get  ye  a  lift  on  soim^  paper,  for  he's  a  rising 
man,  makes  speeches  that  take  down  the  ward 
meetings.  You'd  like  to  know  him,  you  would. 
He's  a  Catholic  of  the  strict  kind,  I  think.  Sure  I 
know  ye  wouldn't  like  that,  but  a  little  of  vour  com- 


i 


^ 


88 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


pany,  poetry,  and  my  j)uncli  would  soon  cure  him  of 
pious  leanings.  Come  down  now,  an'  I'll  introduce 
you." 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Paul,  ''  Fm  ready." 

Peter  bounded  off  his  chair  and  seized  the  lamp. 

"The  lawyer  has  Saturday  night  to  himself,"  said 
he.     "  But  do  you  stay  here  till  I  see  if  he's  in." 

He  went  down  the  stairs  with  a  slow  step  and  a 
sober  air,  as  if  the  task  of  visiting  the  strange  law- 
yer was  not  a  pleasant  one  ;  and  Paul,  watching  him 
until  the  light  had  faded  to  the  first  floor,  saw  him 
stand  hesitatingly  there,  then  retreat  and  return  a 
few  times,  and  finally  go  slowly  to  his  own  room. 

"  O  thou  mass  of  contradiction  ! ''  he  soliloquized, 
leaning  over  the  stairway,  and  returned  to  his  cold 
room  to  resume  his  writing,  and  blow  his  fingers  and 
stamp  his  feet,  and  draw  insj)iration  from  the  moon- 
light, which  shone  more  brilliantly  as  the  night 
strenghtencd.  A  twenty-cent  piece  lying  on  the 
table  gave  him  a  new  thought. 

He  donned  his  overcoat  and  went  out  hastily. 
Down  on  the  first  floor  ho  met  Peter  just  coming 
out  of  the  lawyer's  room,  his  face  aglow  with  pleasure. 
He  seized  Paul  suddenly  and  with  a  jerk  landed  him 
inside  the  door. 

"  Here's  the  twin,"  said  he.  "  Be  George !  Pve 
fixed  it  all,  an'  Til  leave  it  to  your  own  mothers  if 
ve  aren't  as  like  as  sun  an'  moon.  Wallace,  this  is 
Rossiter,  an'  Pm  Carter,  an'  we'll  raise — That's 
right,  Paul ;  make  yourself  at  home." 

The  two  gentlemen  thus  roughly  brought  together 
smiled  and  acknowledged  the  introduction. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Peter  recklessly,  "  transported 


A    ROIIKMIAN. 


89 


from  a  garret  to  a  palace  "—Paul  stared — "  and  all 
on  account  of  the  resemblance  between  a  poet  and  a 
politician  !  Paul,  it's  pretty  complete,  isn't  it  ?  It 
must  be  a  nice  thing  to  be  a  politician  to  afford  such 
luxuries,  and  not  poor  devils  like  you  and  mo,  writin' 
bad  poetry  and  editorials — hey,  b'y  ?  Don't  ye  feel 
proud  of  it  ?  "  said  he,  turning  to  Florian. 

''  Very,"  said  Florian,  "  since  vou  think  so  highly 
of  it." 

There's  only  one  thing  lacking,"  said  Peter — "  it's 
rather  dry."  And  he  twirled  his  thumbs  and  laughed 
at  his  own  audacity.  Florian  began  at  once  to  un- 
derstand his  visitor,  and  without  further  ceremony 
placed  wine  and  brandy  convenient  to  Peter's  elbow. 

"  Shall  I  help  you  to  some  wine  ?  "  he  said  politely. 

"  AVine  ! "  said  Peter,  with  a  cough.  "  Ah,  bother, 
man!  what  d'ye  think  Pm  made  of?  Well,  yes,  I 
think  I  will,  if  ye  say  so,"  he  added,  seeing  that 
Florian  had  poured  it  out  quietly.  "  I  dunno,  though. 
Had  I  better,  Paul  ?  Paul,  the  pensive  and  poetical, 
with  his  long  face  and  yellow  hair  !  I  don't  think  I 
will.  I  won't.  It's  late,  an'  it  isn't  good  to  be 
drink  in'  i)efore  goin'  to  bed ! " 

Florian,  amused,  assisted  Paul  to  some  wine,  and 
drank  without  saying  more  to  Peter,  who  sat  with 
his  thumbs  crossed  and  a  gloomy  expression  on  his 
spongy  face. 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you,"  said  Florian.  "  Press 
of  business  only  prevented  me  from  introducing  m}'- 
self  long  ago.  I  heard  so  often  of  our  peculiar  re- 
semblance that  I  was  curious  to  see  vou,  and  no  doubt 
you  had  similar  feelings." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Paul ;  "  and  I  often   thought 


ii 


m 


'm 


■^F 


90 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


IIH; 


it  strange  we  should  have  been  months  in  the  same 
house  without  meoting.'' 

"  There's  a  wide  distance  between  the  garret  and 
tlio  best  parlor,"  Peter  broke  in ;  "  an'  seeing  ye 
haven't  the  politeness  to  ask  the  old  fellow,  I'll  take 
on  my  own  account  a  mouthful.  I  hold  a  middle 
place,"  he  added,  as  he  held  up  his  glass  to  the  light 
and  eyed  it  tenderly.  "  I'm  the  ground,  as  it  were, 
on  which  ve  two  meet  and  exchansre  views  of  each 
other.  AVell,  here's  to  your  future  joys  an'  sorrows ; 
may  the  wan  strangle  the  other — m  !  " 

The  last  sound  was  the  expression  of  Peter's  satis- 
faction as  the  fiery  liquid,  swelling  in  his  throat, 
bulged  his  round  eyes  outward ;  he  shook  his  legs 
once  or  twice  and  then  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 
His  rough  good-humor  and  oddities  went  very  far  to 
put  the  young  men  on  an  instant  and  happy  level  of 
confidence.  It  was  impossible  to  sit  so  near  a  fire 
and  not  get  warm,  and  in  a  very  short  time  all  stiff- 
ness was  gone  and  they  were  talking  with  the  free- 
dom and  assurance  of  old  friends.  Meanwhile  Peter 
fell  asleej). 

"  Since  our  friend  is  gone  the  way  of  slumber," 
said  Florian, ''  would  you  mind  taking  a  walk  before 
bedtime  ? " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  Paul  answered.  "  Let  Peter 
stay  just  where  he  is  till  we  return.  He's  an  odd 
old  fellow,  isn't  he  ?  And  yet  so  kindly  and  jolly 
that  you  will  forget  annoying  oddities  and  faults  for 
the  sake  of  his  company." 

They  had  an  animated  talk  from  the  boarding- 
house  to  the  Battery,  and  came  quite  unexpectedly 
on  the  open  space  out  on  the  bay — so  suddenly  that 


A    BOHEMIAN. 


91 


an  abrupt  pause  in  the  How  of  talk  passed  unob- 
served, and  in  an  instant  tlie  niinils  of  both  were  far 
away  from  each  other  and  the  scene.  Wliatevor 
Paul's  thoughts  might  have  been,  Florian  at  least 
found  himself  looking  with  inward  eye  over  the  St. 
Lawrence  on  such  a  night  as  this  with  feelings  of 
sorrow  for  the  "  might-have-been."  The  waters  of 
the  bay  were  tumbling  about  in  rude,  irregular  fash- 
ion, like  boys  at  play,  and  across  them  floated  sj)ec- 
tral  vessels  and  dark  shadows.  At  this  hour  the 
same  moon  was  shining  on  a  waste  of  ice  and  snow 
in  Clayburgh.  The  lights  twinkled  among  the  snow- 
covered  houses,  and  far  away  the  islands  stood  dark 
and  ghostly.  Scott  was  there  in  his  loneliness,  read- 
ing in  his  cabin,  or  spearing  pickerel  by  the  light  of 
a  fire  ;  and  Ruth,  the  dear  girl !  well,  it  was  a  little 
foolish,  perhaps,  to  rankle  the  old  wound  for  the 
sake  of  reminiscence. 

They  returned  home  still  talking,  and  parted  at 
Florian's  door.  "I  am  not  here  one-third  of  my 
time,"  said  he  to  Paul  as  he  bade  him  good-night. 
"  My  library  is  exceptionally  good,  and  if  you  will 
take  advantage  of  it  the  premises  are  yours  every 
day  while  I  am  absent.'" 

Paul,  thanking  him  warmly,  accepted  the  kindness. 
On  the  second  iloorhe  met  Peter  with  a  lamp  in  his 
hand  and  a  handful  of  coppers. 

"  Ye  asked  me  for  five  dollars,  b'y,"  said  Peter 
sleepily  ;  "  would  ye  mind  taking  it  in  coppers  ?  " 


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23  WE  it  MAIN  STfiSET 

WEBSTEft  N.V.  14560 

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CHAPTER  YIII. 


THE    PORTRAIT    OX    THK    AVALL, 


J?'      Ill 


In  Floi'ian's  room  Paul  now  passed  a  great  part  of 
his  leisure  time,  finding  among  the  volumes  scattered 
there  his  greatest  pleasures.  It  surprised  him  to  see 
that  very  little  distinction  was  made  Avith  regard  to 
the  orthodoxy  of  writers  in  the  selection  of  books. 
Infidelity  and  Protestantism  were  well  represented 
on  the  shelves,  and  volumes  whose  ])oisonoiis  prop- 
erties seemed  almost  to  destroy  their  own  pages 
with  virulence  and  bigotry  were  common.  He  spoke 
of  it  wonderingly  to  Florian. 

"  Well,"  said  Florian,  "  I  found,  on  coming  here 
and  plunging  into  politics,  that  it  would  be  useful 
to  be  ac(|uainted  with  all  literature  as  well  as  the 
Catholic  purely,  and  that  our  enemies  had  a  side 
to  the  argument  which  might  be  worth  knowing. 
So  I  bought  everything  that  came  in  my  way,  and 
read  it  merely  for  the  sake  of  knowing  personally 
the  strong  and  weak  points  of  an  opponent.  I  can 
tell  you  it  is  a  great  help,  and  particularly  in  politics 
and  society." 

"But  wouldn't  you  be  afraid  a  little  to  handle 
such  poisons  ?  Our  faith,  after  all,  is  as  much  an 
object  of  temptation  as  our  purity,  and  must  be  well 
guarded.  Nothing  so  easy  to  lose,  nothing  so  hard 
to  recover,  as  faith." 

"  If  this  is  the  best  argument  the  enemies  of  our 

9-2 


THE  PORTRAIT   ON   THE   WALL. 


93 


faith  have,"  waving  his  hand  toward  t!io  IxwAcasc, 
''  I  shall  never  lose  it.  Of  course  I  would  not  rec- 
ommend the  reading  of  such  books  to  every  one, 
but  in  political  life  it  is  almost  a  necessity  to  know 
these  things  if  you  expect  to  rise.*' 

"  And  you  expect,  of  course,"  laughed  Paul. 

"  Some  day,"  said  Florian,  "  I  shall  be — \^ell,  never 
mind  what,  but  you  shall  Avrito  my  epic,  and  like 
Achilles,  I  shall  go  down  to  posterity  embalmed  in 
verses  immortal." 

Nev^ertheless,  the  poet  would  have  been  more 
pleased  Avith  a  library  less  dangerous,  for  Florian's 
sake.  As  it  was  none  of  his  business,  he  continued 
to  enjoy  the  line  quarters  of  the  lawyer  during  his 
absence  at  court  and  office,  and  was  able  to  forget 
the  garret  a  few  hours  every  day.  A  boarder  in  a 
garret  was  a  strange  sight  at  a  house  so  exclusive  as 
Madame  Lynch's.  All  the  stranger  that  the  poet 
was  rarely  able  to  pay  his  small  dues  in  full  or  on 
time.  He  managed  cleverly  to  keep  in  madame's 
good  graces,  and  to  kee[)  out  of  her  way.  But  he 
coukl  not  escape  an  exi)lanatio;i  once  the  madame 
sent  up  her  card  with  a  re(piest  for  an  interview. 
She  was  a  large  woman  physically,  and,  as  far  as 
fashionable  disposition  would  allow,  large  hearted. 
She  liked  the  yellow-haired  poet,  and  was  not  at  all 
anxious  that  he  should  pay  his  weekly  dues.  But 
Paul,  though  airy  in  his  disposition,  was  retiring  in 
his  present  circumstances  and  could  not  be  forced 
into  a  tete-a-tete  with  a  female  while  his  clothes 
looked  poorly  ;  therefore  she  pretended  a  feeling 
of  nervousness  that  he  would  run  awav^  without 
making  payment  for  the  attic,  and  was  favored  in 


*i 


r    ■  '1 


..3'S 


94 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


consequence  with  many  ceremonious  visits  and  many 
insights  into  Paul's  character  and  circumstances 
which  he  never  dreamed  of  giving  her.  He  re- 
garded her  as  a  stout,  hard-fisted  old  lady  with  a 
soft  spot  in  her  heart,  which  periodically  he  was 
hound  to  find ;  and  congratulated  himself  on  finding 
it  regularly  p,nd  succeeding  thereby  in  keeping  a 
respectable  shelter  over  his  unlucky  head.  Then 
Frances,  her  daughter,  had  a  very  sweet  face  and  a 
bright  disposition,  and  was  not  unwilling,  with  all 
his  poverty,  to  talk  literature  occasionally  and  let 
him  play  on  her  piano  when  strangers  were  not 
present.  The  boarding-house  was  extremely  select. 
Paul  wondered  that  he  ever  had  the  audacity  to 
apply  for  the  garret  at  a  place  where  presumably  a 
garret  would  not  exist ;  but  in  the  first  seating  out 
on  a  literary  life  he  had  thought  the  time  would  be 
short  until  his  means  would  more  than  match  the 
best  parlor  in  the  house. 

"  0  Mr.  Rossiter ! "  was  madame's  first  remark  one 
day,  when  he  entered  in  response  to  the  usual  in- 
vitation, "here  I  have  waited  another  three  days 
over  the  time,  and  yet  I  have  to  ask  for  another  in- 
terview." 

"  And  I  am  always  willing  to  give  it,"  said  Paul 
reverently,  "  for  I  have  nothing  else  to  give." 

"Well,  well,  well!  "  and  she  tapped  her  pencil  on 
the  desk,  and  put  on  her  eye-glasses  to  examine  the 
account  for  the  twentieth  time. 

"  I  have  taught  all  the  gentlemen  so  to  remember 
the  right  day  that  it  seems  hard  to  fail  with  you. 
Four  weeks,  Mr.  Rossiter,  and  twenty  dollars  due." 

"  I'm  sure  I  did  my  best,"  said  he.     "  But  these 


n:    li 


THE   PORTUAIT   ON   THE   WALL. 


96 


people  don't  appreciate  genius.  If  you  were  the 
publisher,  now,  maclame,  I  would  have  no  hesita- 
tion. You  understand  me,  I  think,  and  you  would 
make  others  understand  me.  But  in  these  hard 
matter-of-fact  days  poets  will  starve  somewhat  easier 
than  in  Queen  Anne's  time.  I  think  of  giving  it  up 
and  going  back  to  the  country." 

"  It  would  be  best,"  said  madame, "  but  then  there 
is  no  hurry.  If  you  could  oblige  me  with  what  is 
owing " 

Paul  shook  his  head  mournfully. 

"  How  can  you  expect  it,"  said  he,  "  when  a  ffin 
gets  but  five  dollars  for  the  labor  of  weeks  (  If  I  Oi^^.  c>e 
to  write  poetry  of  the  band-box  kind — ten  minutes' 
work,  you  know — or  write  sonnets  on  the  editor's 
generosity,  then  I  might  earn  a  little.  But  I  never 
will  prostitute  genius  that  way,  not  even  to  pay  my 
debts." 

"  Is  it  prostituting  genius  to  pay  your  debts  ? '' 
said  madame. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  Paul  answered.  "  I  might  shovel 
coal,  and  be  dependent  on  no  one  save  hospital 
charity,  or  wear  my  life  out  in  a  shop  as  clerk.  But 
I  only  ask  time,  madame,  only  time,  and  as  I  paid 
in  the  past,  so  shall  I  pay  you  in  the  future.  I  need 
time." 

"  Money  is  so  scarce,"  began  madame,  who  liked 
to  hear  him  plead. 

"  I  have  always  heard  the  rich  say  that.  Now,  I 
think  it  plentiful,  and  it  is.  And  how  regularly  you 
must  get  your  money  from  your  wealthy  lawyers, 
and  doctors,  and  statesmen.  O  madame!  do  you 
stand  in  such  need  of  a  paltry  twenty  dollars  that 


i-  •  I' 


96 


SOLITAKY   ISLAND. 


you  call  money  scarce  ?  And  what  would  you  do 
with  your  attic  if  I  Avent  ?  Poets  are  scarcer  than 
dollars  you  know.  And  when  shall  you  have  the 
distinction  of  harboring  a  poet  in  your  attic  again  ? 
I  know  I  am  living  too  high  for  my  means,  and  I 
must  economize.  If  you  could  give  me  the  attic  for  a 
certain  sum,  and  let  me  board  elsewhere,  I  think  it 
would  do  very  well." 

Madame  looked  grave  and  seemed  on  the  point  of 
refusing,  when  Frances  came  in,  but  stopped,  apolo- 
gized, and  was  withdrawing. 

"  Come  and  plead  for  me,"  said  Paul,  who  was  a 
great  favorite  with  the  girl  and  knew  it.  "  I  have 
asked  a  favor,  and  your  mother  is  going  to  say  '  No.' " 

"  Just  imagine,  Frances,"  said  madame  calmly, 
"  Mr.  Rossiter  wishes  to  retain  his  room  and  board 
elsewhere.     Can  we  permit  it  ?  " 

"  Why  not,  mamma  ?  "  said  she.  "  I  know  it  is 
the  rule  to  do  differently,  and  that  you  have  never 
broken  it  yet,  but  then " 

Not  having  any  reason  to  offer,  she  stopped  short 
and  looked  at  Paul  to  continue.  She  was  a  simple- 
hearted  girl,  with  remarkably  bright,  soft  eyes,  and 
her  character  clearly  pictured  in  her  frank  face, 
which  Paul  in  his  weaker  moments  often  allowed  to 
weave  itself  into  his  fancies.  He  was  young,  how- 
ever, and  faces  of  this  kind  were  apt  to  haunt  him. 

"  But  then,"  added  she,  "  what  will  you  do  with- 
out your  poet  ? " 

"  Has  he  ever  been  of  any  earthly  use  to  us  ? " 
said  madame  with  unusual  severity.  "  Have  we 
ever  seen  anything  from  his  muse  to  justify  his 
reputation  ? " 


THE   PORTRAIT   ON   THE   WALL. 


97 


*'  I  have,"  said  Frances — "  just  the  sweetest  things." 
But  Paul  was  suddenly  downcast  even  under  this 
criticism ;  for  madame  looked  portentous,  and  "  just 
the  sweetest "  was  not  the  kind  of  poetry  he  looked 
upon  as  worthy  of  his  genius. 

"  "Well,  I  am  not  disposed  to  be  too  hard,"  said 
madame  ;  "  but  if  you  ask  favors,  Mr.  Rossiter,  you 
must  expect  to  grant  them  in  turn." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "  that  is  not  to  be  doubted." 

"  I  shall  permit  you  to  retain  the  room,  then,  but 
I  shall  ask  a  favor  of  you  soon — a  reasonable  one, 
mind,  w^hich  I  expect  to  have  granted  immediately." 

Mr.  Rossiter  was  missed  thenceforward  from  the 
table,  and,  in  addition  to  cold,  want  of  light,  and 
stinted  means,  he  had  now  to  undergo  the  daily 
matyrdom  of  a  cheap  lunch  in  cheap  quarters, 
and  among  the  cheapest  sort  of  a  crowd,  Florian's 
rooms  and  library  made  his  hardships  light,  how- 
ever, and  he  reveled  in  the  luxury  and  elegance  that 
was  really  so  only  by  contrast  with  the  bare  garret. 

Among  the  pictures  which  hung  on  the  walls  was 
one  that  brought  a  sudden  surge  of  feeling  to  the 
poet's  heart ;  a  sketch  of  Clayburgh  bay  and  the 
distant  islands  under  the  sun  of  a  spring  morning. 
A  boat  was  putting  off  from  the  shore.  A  young 
man  stood  at  the  bow  arranging  some  ropes,  while 
in  the  stern  were  two  girls  in  yachting  costume, 
whose  sweet  faces  seemed  to  be  looking  smilingly 
into  one's  own.  The  dark  haired,  dark-eyed  witch 
in  white  was  waving  a  handkerchief  coquettishly  at 
an  unseen  observer ;  her  companion,  hands  clasped 
over  one  knee,  was  looking  dreamily  in  the  same 

direction.    With  this  face  the  poet  was  captivated, 

7 


fi 

I' 

^^ 


El,' 

^  1 


i-m 


If! 


98 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


and  recognized  it  in  a  nioro  uniniated  description  of 
a  face,  which,  hanging  over  the  Ijookcase,  had  al- 
ready won  his  heart  and  begun  to  trouble  his  dreams. 
He  mused  over  it  often  and  wove  f Jincies  concerning 
the  maid. 

A  few  months  of  companionship  placed  him  and 
the  politician  on  a  footing  of  intimacy,  and  started 
those  confidences  between  the  friends  which  make 
such  an  intimacy  so  delightful.  Soon  Florian  looked 
on  Paul  as  a  young  man  of  poetic  talent,  perhaps 
genius,  with  delicate  senthnents  and  fondness  for  the 
ideal — a  man  who  would  make  a  good  friend,  bui 
not  a  very  useful  one,  since  he  was  of  that  sort  which 
expects  every  one  to  be  useful  to  them,  and  who  in- 
deed reflect  a  glory  on  their  helpers  That  idea  of 
utility  was  getting  to  be  a  very  powerful  one  with 
him.  As  to  the  past  life  of  Paul  he  never  thougnt 
but  once,  and  his  conclusion  was  that  the  youth  had 
come  up  as  a  flower,  cared  for  tenderly,  without 
much  experience,  doomed  to  make  no  impression  on 
the  world  except  to  add  to  its  momentary  beauty. 
He  had  no  past,  in  fact,  that  could  have  left  any 
bitter  traces  on  his  soul. 

Paul  thought  Florian  a  genius  of  a  high  order  and 
looked  up  to  him  ;  a  man  with  a  powerful  array  of 
statistics  in  his  head ;  who  could  get  up  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  and  cool,  self-possessed,  clear-headed, 
talk  sound  sense  for  an  hour  ;  whose  aim  was  already 
the  presidency,  if  he  never  said  as  much,  and  who 
was  beginning  in  the  right  way  to  reach  it ;  who  was 
clearly  a  gentleman  of  the  very  highest  order,  inas- 
much as  adherence  to  principle  and  religion  was 
added  to  outward  courtesy  of  a  superior  kind.     It 


THE   PORTKAIT   ON   THE   WALL. 


99 


pleased  the  i)oet  to  discover  that  Florian  luid  a  past 
of  which  he  did  not  like  to  speak,  and  of  which  there 
were  many  traces  in  his  character.  When  he  looked 
at  the  yachting  picture  Paul  saw  two  expressions  in 
his  face  that  were  eloquent  of  a  misery  somewhat 
softened  by  time.  When  his  gaze  rested  on  the  por- 
trait on  the  bookcase  he  saw  the  same  look  of  pain 
succeeded  by  one  of  resignation,  and  even  of  hope. 
Quickly  and  justly  the  youth  formed  his  conclusions. 
There  was  a  resemblance  in  Florian  to  the  girl  who 
stood  in  the  yacht  waving  her  handkerchief,  and  prob- 
ably she  was  a  relative  whom  some  misfortune  had 
snatched  from  him  forever.  But  as  to  the  other, 
who  had  no  resemblance  to  him,  she  was  perhaps  his 
aflBanced,  and  circumstances  which  he  hoped  to  over- 
come kept  them  apart.  Paul  laughed  a  little  at  his 
own  inferences  and  the  pain  which  the  last  one  in 
particular  gave  him. 

He  was  right  in  judging  that  Florian's  hopes  still 
centered  on  the  girl  whose  picture  hung  over  the 
book-case.  Politics  and  the  women  he  had  met  were 
as  yet  unable  to  disturb  the  gentle  sway  of  her,  who 
for  truth's  sake  had  put  aside  her  love  for  him,  and, 
though  in  error  as  to  her  creed,  was  not  one  whit  less 
devoted  to  principle  than  he,  a  Catholic,  sharing  in 
the  possession  of  all  truth.  Sometimes  the  thought 
intruded  on  him  that  it  would  have  been  as  well  to 
have  dropped  that  condition  of  their  love,  and  to 
have  married  her  first  and  converted  her  afterwards ; 
but,  apart  from  its  unfairness  to  her,  he  had  laid 
down  the  principle  that  mixed  marriages  were  hurt- 
ful and  he  would  not — what?  Suppose  now  that 
there  was  an  opportunity  of  renewing  their  former 


i 

■it'- 
ll 


,    1\ 


i 


i  .1. 

>        1 1 

!i     1 1 


100 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


relations,  and  Ruth  was  yet  obstinate  in  her  belief, 
would  he  not  be  unwise  to  lose — what  ?  Florian  saw 
that  he  was  stumbling  against  the  rocks  of  conscience, 
and  looked  up  at  those  sweet  faces  in  the  yacht, 
while  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes  and  his  heart  gave 
a  great  throb  of  pain.  One  was  dead  and  the  other 
worse  than  dead  to  him  unless — Avhat  'i 

His  relations  with  Ruth,  he  had  to  admit,  were  not 
of  the  most  hopeful  kind.  In  two  years  he  had  not 
exchanged  words  or  letters  with  her,  and  from  the 
various  reports  which  acquaintances  from  Clayburgh 
incidentally  gave  him  he  could  see  that  she  had  settled 
down  to  the  new  life  with  her  usual  good  sense  and 
determination  to  forget  the  past.  It  appeared,  too 
that  she  had  become  literary  in  lier  tastes,  and  was 
a  welcome  contributor  to  many  publications.  As  far 
as  his  hopes  were  concerned  it  seemed  ridiculous,  yet 
absence  might  have  done  considerable  for  him.  He 
knew  she  once  held  him  dear,  and  Ruth  was  not 
quick  to  forget.  If  he  had  kept  her  image  in  his 
heart  through  all  the  blandishments  of  society, 
through  all  the  turmoil  of  political  life  and  the  hard 
study  of  his  profession,  Avas  it  not  more  likely  that 
in  the  noble  solitude  of  the  north,  amid  scenes  the 
more  dear  because  he  had  once  lived  amongst  them, 
with  Linda's  grave  on  the  hillside  to  remind  her  of 
the  child's  fondest  wishes,  his  image  would  fade  more 
slowly  from  her  mind,  and  the  old  love  die  harder  in 
her  heart  ?  Perhaps  she  was  entertaining  them  with 
the  same  hopes  that  shared  his  loneliness,  and  the 
quiet  study  and  prayer  of  those  years  of  separation 
might  have  led  her  so  near  to  the  fold  that  to  marry 
her  would  bring  her  safely  in.    On  the  other  hand. 


THE   PORTRAIT   ON   THE    WALL. 


101 


he  remembered,  with  a  sigh,  Ruth's  rigid  conscien- 
tiousness, which  would  make  it  a  duty  to  dismiss 
every  thought  of  him  from  her  mind  until  time 
would  allow  her  to  look  upon  him  m(»i'ely  as  a  friend. 
She  had  no  claim  on  him,  and  that  was  enough. 
The  dead  heart  of  Linda  would  not  beat  more  coldly 
than  hers  when  they  met  again  if  this  last  supposition 
was  correct,  and  yet  he  prayed  Linda's  prayer  tho 
more  fervently  as  all  these  doubts  crowded  on  him, 
"  tliat  we  may  meet  again." 

At  all  events,  Florian  was  beginning  to  feel  that 
to  marry  was  becoming  for  him  a  political  necessity. 
Social  prominence,  he  thought,  required  an  immedi- 
ate and  advantageous  marriage.  He  cared  very 
little  for  wealth,  and  his  bride  need  have  for  her 
dowser  no  more  than  the  gi-aces  which  make  a  woman 
popular — beauty,  fine  carriage,  a  mind  above  the 
average,  and  respectable  birth.  Ruth  had  all  these, 
and  what  a  joy  to  him  if  his  ambition  could  follow 
whither  his  heart  led  !  But  if  not,  what  was  he  to 
do?  There  were  other  women  in  the  world  with 
some  of  the  necessary  qualifications,  and  Frances 
Lynch  was  one  of  them.  Her  mother  had  been  a 
noted  belle  in  her  time,  and  enjoyed  the  friendship 
of  remarkable  men  and  women,  A  Do  Ponsonby 
keeping  a  boarding-house  was  a  little  irregular,  but 
such  a  boarding-house !  Only  the  lights  of  society 
and  intellect  gained  admittance  within  its  portals ; 
and  madame,  although  guilty  of  a  blunder  in  marry- 
ing an  Irishman  with  some  brains,  good  birth,  and 
moderate  fortune,  never  lost  her  power  in  the  w^orld 
of  society  on  that  account.  Frances  inherited  her 
mother's  wit  and  beauty.    Now  that  she  appeared  to 


iK 


;-#! 


-Hi!| 

•Mr 


rrr- 


! 

' 

1 

i 
i 

1- 

1 

1 

102 


SOLITAllY    ISLAXD. 


him  in  the  light  of  a  possible  wife,  ho  began  to  per- 
ceive that  she  had  made  a  dee))  impression  on  him. 
She  was  slight  and  willowy  in  form,  with  a  woman's 
full  height,  and  a  (luitt  grace  of  manner.  lie  remem- 
bered how  transparent  her  face  was,  and  h(jw  delicate 
its  outline;  how  the  sunlight  gh'amed  through  her 
yellow  hair;  the  sweetness  of  h(;r  voice  ;  the  beauty 
of  her  mouth,  teeth,  and  smile ;  tlie  gentleness  and 
womanliness  of  her  disposition,  and  her  winning  and 
candid  ways.  He  had  to  admit  that  beside  her  Ruth 
seemed  quite  plain.  And,  moreover,  Frances  was  a 
Catholic  and  very  devout,  to  all  appearances.  What 
her  faults  were  he  did  not  know,  as  he  never  looked 
for  them.  It  seemed  a  little  odd,  even  to  his  present 
changed  conditions  of  thought,  that  before  the  old 
hopes  died  he  should  thus  bo  looking  for  an  object 
on  which  to  found  new  ones,  but  it  was  an  old  trick 
with  his  calculating  nature,  which  })(>litical  habits 
had  intensilied. 

If  any  one  noticed  the  few  special  attentions  he 
paid  to  Frances  after  these  meditations,  no  comment 
was  excited.  Yet  Peter  Carter  was  filled  Avith  rage 
and  suspicion  over  them,  and  as  soon  as  he  might 
rushed  in  to  madame  with  unbecoming  hasteand  fury. 

"  I  told  ye,"  said  Peter,  as  he  sat  dov  '^  familiarly 
in  madame's  easy  chair,  "  that  ye  never  would  know 
how  to  bring  u|)  a  child,  and  that  ye  never  deserved 
to  have  one,  with  your  curls  an'  pomade,  an'  poke- 
bonnets,  an'  furb'lows,  an'  trimmings,  an'  nonsense. 
I  told  ye,  and  now  you  are  going'  to  reap  the  reward 
o'  your  sins." 

"  "What  is  the  matter  now  ? ''  said  madame 
calmly. 


THK    I'OIITUAIT    ON    Tilt:    WALL. 


103 


"  Matter  now  !  "  gruntud  I'eter.  "  ^focU'sty  v\as 
a  quality  of  most  women  I  knew,  but  your  daiigliter 
hasn't  any — a  mere  bundle  of  fashions  ;  an'  I  won't 
stand  it  any  longer.  Am  I  going  to  see  her  damned 
and  not  sav  a  word  i  " 

"  AVliat  difference  will  it  nuike  to  you  ? "  said 
raatlame  sneeringly. 

"  Sporting  with  that  lawyer  below,  the— the  witch. 
He  making  faces  at  her  an'  she  softening  him  with 
music.  He  that  has  no  more  heart  than  a  stone. 
It's  a  gizzard  he  has!  An' he  won't  he  a  Catinlio 
within  ton  years,  he's  such  a  poor  one  now.  I  tell  y  o 
I  won't  stand  it ! " 

"  Evidently  you  have  a  grievauoe  of  some  kind," 
said  maduiuc  .  ''  pray,  what  is  it  ?  And,  if  you  ran, 
sper'   plainly." 

"  I've  seen  through  ye,  ma'am  ; "  and  Peter  leered 
at  the  elegant  lady.  "  I've  seen  through  your 
daughter  too  ;  an'  I  know  you  are  just  dying  to  get 
the  lawyer  into  the  family.  But  I  swear  if  she  tries 
it  I'll  blow  on  you  !  And  I'll  go  to  him  myself  an' 
tell  him  the  Avhole  thing.'' 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  madame  sternly. 

"  Wait  a  minute ! "  snapped  Peter,  but  he  recog- 
nized the  tone  which  madame  used,  and  kept  growl- 
ing in  a  prudent  minor  key.  "  Wait !  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  wait  one  second." 

"  There's  a  little  debt  of  yours  just  sent  me  this 
morning,"  said  madame,  "  and  I  was  trying  to  decide 
whether  it  would  be  better  to  pay  it  or  stop  it  out 
of  your  monthly  allowance." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Peter,  slightly  confused. 

*'  And,  then,  Mrs.  Brown  was  herp;  this  morning 


m 


If 


i 


'  IM 


ml 


tw- 


104 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


ii    i 


to  tell  me  her  front  room  is  vacant,  and  I  thought  it 
wiser  that  you  should  remove  yourself  there,  for  you 
are  getting  too  coarse  for  this  elegance." 

"  Elegance  be  hanged  I  "  said  Peter  warmly. 
"What  do  I  care  for  you  and  your  elegance?  I'll 
go  to  Mrs.  Brown's,  if  ye  wish  me  to,  or  to  the 
devil." 

"  Don't  hurry,"  said  madame  graciously  ;  "  you'll 
meet  your  old  friend  soon  enough." 

"  But  I'll  ruin  ye,  I'll  ruin  ye ! "  he  stormed.  "  I'll 
tell  the  whole  story  to  the  lawyers,  poets,  and  great- 
nessess,  I  will,  and  end  your  fine  plotting." 

"  There  are  some  papers  here,"  said  madame, 
"  which  I  will  read  for  you.  You  need  quieting,  you 
foolish  man.  And  if  it  is  necessary  to  remove  you 
from  Mrs.  Brown's  front  room,  your  next  journey, 
I  fear,  will  be  to  prison." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Peter,  collapsing  suddenly.  "  But 
sure  you  are  notgoin'  to  send  me  to  Mrs.  Brown's ; 
ye  wouldn't  turn  out  an  old  man  from  such  comfort- 
able quarters ! " 

"You  are  so  boisterous  when  you  drink,"  said 
madame :  "  you  make  so  many  threats,  you  interfere 
so  unwarrantably  in  the  affairs  of  strangers,  that 
really " 

"  I'm  not  boisterous,"  Peter  asserted, "  and  I  never 
in  my  whole  life  made  threats  to  any  one.  Did  I 
make  threats  ?  "  he  added,  innocently.  "  '  Pon  my 
honor  I  was  dreaming,  an'  had  no  mor  i  idea  of  the 
meaning'  o'  what  I  said  than  the  man  in  the  moon. 
I'll  say  nothing.  I'll  be  quiet  as  a  lamb.  I  won't  open 
my  mouth  good  or  bad,  if  ye  say  so.  But  of  course 
ye'U  excuse  my  anxiety  for  Paul.    It  was  Paul  I 


If:  [!: 

iili: 


THE   POKTRAIT   ON   THE   WALL. 


105 


was  thinking  of,  for  I  knew  he  was  in  love  with 
Frances ;  and  he's  such  a  beautiful  creature,  an'  it 
isn't  fair  that  the  lawyer  should  have  everything,  as 
ye  must  admit  yerself  when  ye  come  to  think  of  it," 

"  Did  Paul  tell  you  as  much  ?  "  said  madame  in- 
differently, plunging  into  some  papers. 

"  Of  course  he  did  I "  said  Peter  vehemently. 
"  Well — 1  won't  say  he  did,  after  all ;  but  his  actions 
said  it,  and  then  he's  a  poet  an'  couldn't  help  falling 
in  love  with  such  a  little  beauty.  No,  I  don't  think 
he  did  say  anything,  I  needn't  mind  going  to  Mrs. 
Brown's  ? " 

"  Not  yet,"  said  madame  slowly,  "  but  I  shall  keep 
this  debt  out  of  your  monthly  allowance." 

"  Don't ! ''  said  Peter,  with  gloomy  earnestness ; 
but  the  lady  was  inexorable,  and  he  went  off  con- 
vinced that  whatever  he  turned  his  hand  to,  whether 
for  good  or  evil  to  himself  or  others,  was  sure  to 
end  in  a  mass  of  chaotic  bitter  ruin. 


I 


1^  ' 


CHAPTER  IX. 


RUTH. 


m 


While  the  years  were  passing  with  noisy  flight 
for  Florian,  one  woman  was  enjoying  in  Clay  burgh  a 
peace  of  heart  none  the  less  assured  and  real  that  it 
had  been  won  after  much  suffering.  When  Florian 
went  Euth  had  found  his  absence  a  very  keen  pain, 
almost  impossible  to  bear,  but  then  the  battle  had 
been  fought  and  won  long  before  their  actual  separa- 
tion, when  it  had  first  become  plain  to  her  that  she 
could  not  accept  the  Catholic  faith.  She  had  been 
very  calm  in  announcing  her  determination,  because 
the  scene  had  already  been  enacted  in  imagination 
many  times,  but  after  his  departure  she  fought  a  new 
battle  with  herself, winning  quietly  and  passing  into 
a  life  of  gentle  calm  that  nothing  else  seemed  able 
to  disturb.  As  Florian  had  supposed,  her  strict  con- 
scientiousness had  swept  from  her  heart  every  vestige 
of  the  love  she  once  had  for  him.  His  appearance 
to-morrow  in  Clayburgh,  with  or  without  a  wife, 
would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  her,  not  an  occasion 
of  regret  and  expectation,  as  it  would  have  been  for 
bim.  He  had  fallen  into  that  ridiculous  position 
which  a  rejected  lover  finds  it  so  hard  to  assume,  that 
of  the  trusted  friend  of  the  woman  he  would  have 

made  his  wife.    Often  she  visited  the  grave  on  the  hill, 

106 


RUTH. 


107 


and  wept  bitter  tears  over  this  one  sorrow  of  her 
life.  It  seemed  so  bard  to  believe  Linda  was  dead. 
The  whole  scene  was  instinct  with  her  presence. 
Hers  had  been  the  earliest  laugh  to  greet  the  spring, 
and  hers  tbe  first  tears  that  bewailed  the  death  of 
the  flowers  and  the  coming  of  the  long  winter.  But 
who  would  have  disturbed  the  sweet  sleep  of  the 
girl  'i  and  who  would  have  called  thee  back,  Linda, 
from  the  smile  of  God,  even  if  they  had  the  power  ? 

The  report  which  reached  Florian  that  Ruth  had 
devoted  herself  to  literary  work  was  true,  and  of  late 
she  began  to  reap  so  much  success  and  profit  from 
her  venture  that  a  new  idea,  presented  to  her  by  an 
outsider  for  consideration,  took  her  fane  ,^  very  much. 
A  relative  and  her  husband  had  visited  Clay  burgh 
the  previous  summer,  and  urged  on  Ruih  the  pro- 
priety of  coming  to  New  York  during  the  ^^-inter,  or 
at  any  time  that  suited  her  convenience,  and  making 
the  acquaintance  of  the  literary  celebrities  of  the 
day. 

''  We  have  them  all  at  our  receptions,"  said  Mrs. 
Merrion ;  "  and  we  are  so  gratified  to  hear  them 
speak  of  you  in  terms  of  high  praise.  You  will 
receive  an  ovation,  and  think  of  the  pleasure  and 
profit  it  would  be  :o  you  to  hold  sweet  converse 
with  them." 

"  Well,  Barbara,"  said  Ruth,  who  thought  her 
relative's  adjectives  a  little  silly, ''  your  offer  is  tempt- 
ing, and  I  shall  consider  it  during  the  winter.  But 
I  could  not  think  of  leaving  Clayburgh  at  present. 
Next  year,  perliaps,  I  may  go  down  to  hold  siveet 
converse  with  your  literary  stars." 

And  Mrs.  Merrion  perceived  from  the  unnecessary 


} 


$ 


\ 


108 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


emphasis  that  Ruth  washmghing  at  her.  However, 
Ruth  thought  deeply  on  the  matter  and  finally 
proposed  it  to  her  father,  who  was  delighted  with 
the  idea  of  being  in  Florian's  neigliborhood  for  a 
time,  and  suggested  shutting  up  the  house  at  once 
and  setting  off  on  their  journey.  8he  went  first  to 
hear  the  hermit's  opinion  on  it,  and  took  Mrs.  Wini- 
fred Wallace  with  her.  It  was  a  bitter  cold  dav,  and 
the  open  sleigh  in  which  they  were  seated  afforded  a 
fine  view  of  the  vast  stretches  of  ice  that  lay  away 
from  them  for  miles,  and  of  the  islands  between,  sul- 
len and  gloomy  like  life-prisoners  in  Siberia.  When 
they  reached  the  island  they  left  the  stage  at  the 
house  of  a  friend  and  procured  another  conveyance 
to  take  them  eastward  to  the  narrow  channel  open- 
ing into  Eel  Bay.  They  crossed  the  ice  on  foot  to  a 
dark  wood,  where  a  few  maples  with  dead  leaves 
clinging  to  the  bare  branches  made  a  great  stir  like 
the  chuckling  of  many  skeletons.  Through  this  they 
went  by  a  path  evidently  frequented  of  late,  and  so 
beaten  down  as  to  make  the  wood  passable,  and 
finally  came  out  on  a  bluff  which  showed  the  hermit's 
house  a  short  distance  off,  with  a  light  in  the  window. 
It  was  a  cloudy  and  gloomy  day,  and  Scott  was  at 
home,  with  a  bright  fire  burning  in  the  chimney- 
place  and  his  solitary  candle  lit,  while  Izaak  Walton 
lay  open  at  a  well-thumbed  page  that  brought  back 
a  fresher  memory  of  the  brightness  and  sweetness  of 
the  summer.  He  Avas  surprised  at  the  appearance 
of  the  two  women,  but  politely  invited  them  to  sit 
down  and  remove  their  wraps,  while  he  put  a  fresh 
logon  the  fire  and  showed  a  bachelor's  feverish  desire 
to  set  things  in  order.     Ruth  was  in  the  habit  of  call- 


RUTH. 


109 


ing  on  him  as  often  as  she,  thought  her  presence 
would  not  be  too  intrusive,  but  she  had  never  dis- 
turbed his  retreat  during  the  winter,  and  perhaps  he 
thought  this  visit  a  mere  freak  of  in(]uisitiveness. 
Mrs.  AA^inifred  was  uneasy,  and  made  most  wretched 
attempts  to  seem  commonplace  and  ordinary,  look- 
ing about  her  with  the  air  of  meek  terror  that  used 
to  provoke  the  anger  of  Linda  and  Florian  because 
of  its  ludicrous  side.  Ruth  and  the  hermit  paid  her 
no  attention. 

"  It  was  a  mere  notion,  you  know,"  the  girl  was 
explaining  to  Scott,  as  she  sat  in  the  blaze  with  her 
hands  clasped  over  her  knee,  "  for  I  could  have  waited 
until  you  came  to  town  and  explained  it  to  you  then ; 
but  an  idea  seized  me  like  an  apoplexy,  and  I  must 
come  down  without  delay.  I  have  not  seen  you  in 
a  long  time,  and  I  was  and  am  thinking  of  going  to 
New  York."  She  was  looking  at  him  verj'^  closely 
as  she  said  this,  sure  the  hermit  would  accuse  her  in 
thought  of  going  after  Florian,  and  would  look  at 
her  once  with  his  keen  blue  eyes.  He  was  as  inter- 
ested as  if  she  had  stated  her  destination  to  be 
Timbuctoo. 

"  It's  a  fine  place,  New  York,"  he  said  quietly ; 
"  but  why  need  all  the  blood  rush  to  the  heart? " 

"  It  must  all  pass  through  it,"  said  she,  taking  up 
the  figure  with  a  smile, "  or  else  be  cast  aside !  You 
see,  I  would  not  go  to  stay,  but  only  to  mr.ke  a  few 
friends  among  the  great  thinkers  and  writers  and 
poets.  It  would  be  something  to  know  them,  would 
it  not?" 

"  O  yes !  it  does  one  good  to  meet  a  great  person, 
I  think ;  but,  then,  they  needn't  be  all  bookish  foUui 


i:|| 


I 


n?;* 

*< 


110 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


" '     M        ■•» 


11 


:  1! 


] 

,\ 

1     ■ 

\ 

:■- 

^  ! 

t 

r  ' 

1 

There  are  great  people  in  the  garrets  and  cellars  of 
a  big  city  an'  in  the  work-shops." 

"  You  were  never  in  a  great  city,"  said  she,  and 
repented  of  the  v/ords  immediately.  "  Pray  do  not 
answer  that,"  she  broke  in.  "  It  was  not  meant  to 
pry  into  your  affairs.  It  was  an  accident.  But 
what  do  you  think  ?  Is  it  wise  for  me  to  go  ?  I  have 
won  a  little  fame  by  writing,  and  I  would  so  like  to 
knoAv  great  minds.  Then  there  are  great  doctors  of 
theology  and  eminent  Catholics  there.  Who  knows 
but  that  I  might  get  some  light  from  them." 

He  shook  his  head  and  smiled  a  little. 

"  I  understand,"  said  she.  "  I  know  to  what  you 
refer.  "Well,  I  have  prayed  and  prayed,  and  yet 
light  will  not  come.  I  have  tried  to  be  content  with 
Methodism  and  I  can't,  nor  can  I  find  rest  in  any 
other  faith." 

"  It  is  a  time  of  doubt  with  you,"  said  the  hermit, 
"  and  that  means  change.  I  dunno  as  great  minds 
will  help  ye  much ;  mostly  it's  the  little  minds  do 
God's  work,  an'  bring  peace  and  rest." 

"  Well,  I'll  visit  the  garrets  and  cellars,  and  hunt 
up  little  minds,  and  see  the  great  people  too." 

"  Them  fine  writers  an'  thinkers,"  said  Scott  se- 
riously, "  have  a  mighty  high  opinion  o'  themselves, 
an'  look  at  religion  pretty  often  in  queer  ways.  They 
kind  o'  handle  it  as  a  jeweler  handles  a  watch. 
They've  got  the  secret  o'  the  thing,  an'  don't  think 
much  of  it.  They  give  ye  a  doubt  about  it  some- 
times, unless  ye  get  the  'umble  ones  that  thinks  more 
o'  their  neighbor  than  they  do  o'  themselves.  I've 
met  some  of  'em  fishin,'  an'  they  were  too  green  for 
anything.    They  didn't  like  to  be  told  so,  either." 


BUTH. 


Ill 


"  Then  would  you  say  go,  Scott  i "  she  persisted. 

"  AVould  I  say  go  ?  Well,  if  great  minds  is  the 
only  trouble,  an'  religion,  why,  yes,  go." 

Somehow  she  was  not  so  satisfied  with  his  answer, 
and  sat  staring  into  the  fire,  wondering.  Was  there 
anything  else  that  should  trouble  her  save  religion 
and  the  great  minds  i  There  was  the  rush  and  whirl 
of  polite  society,  but  it  never  could  entangle  her, 
and  then — Florian.  She  looked  at  Scott.  He  was 
reading  Walton,  and  Mrs.  Winifred  was  watching 
him  shyly  as  a  curiosity.  Why  should  he  have  put 
in  the  if/  Did  he  think  the  old  trouble  would  begin 
again?  She  was  not  afraid  of  herself;  but  then 
what  security  was  there  for  Horian  ?  She  had  often 
wondered  if  he  had  given  up  the  old  love  as  com- 
pletely as  she  had,  and,  knowing  his  fond  disposi- 
tion, feared  he  had  not.  Would  not  her  presence 
excite  it  more  violently  and  more  hopelessly,  and 
Avas  that  what  the  hermit  meant  ?  The  silence  grew 
so  profound  that  Mrs.  Winifred  felt  called  upon  to 
say  something. 

"  From  what  I've  heard  of  big  cities,"  said  she, 
"  seemingly  nothing  troubles  the  girls  there  but  their 
dress  and  beaux." 

"  Yes"  said  Scott,  looking  at  her  with  an  expr«^s- 
sion  of  severe  reproach  in  his  eyes,  which  puzzled 
Ruth,  "  beaux  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  my  presence,  Scott,  would  annoy 
Florian  ? " 

"  I  do,"  said  the  hermit,  as  if  he  had  been  expect- 
ing the  question.  "  I  think  he  never  got  over  losin' 
you,  an'  it  would  kind  o'  stir  him  up  to  see  you 
again." 


:i..  m 


ii- 


ft 


Ml 


! 

i  i 


Hi 


112 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


"  Is  that  a  good  reason  for  me  to  remain  away 
from  New  York  or  any  other  place  if  " 

"  Not  if  ye  care  nothin'  for  him."  And  seeing  she 
did  not  perceive  what  injury  her  presence  could  be 
to  Florian,:he  went  on  a  little  hurriedly,  as  if  it 
annoyed  him  to  speak  of  these  things  : — "  I  know 
he's  kind  o'  hoped  agin'  hope  that  ye'd  come  to  him 
some  time,  as  he'd  like  to,  an'  make  up.  It's  been  a 
help  to  him  a  long  time,  an'  kept  him  out  o'  harm 
perhaps,  or  leastwise  from  gettin'  away  from  the 
right.  Politicians,"  he  added,  seeing  that  her  look 
suggested  a  doubt  as  to  Florian's  getting  off  the  path 
an  inch,  "  get  right  an'  wrong  so  mixed  up  with  their 
own  likin'  that  they  don't  alius  do  right  even  when 
they  mean  to.  When  he  finds  out  ye're  not  in  love 
with  him  any  more,  there  won't  be  any  holdin'  to 
him.     God  only  knows  when  he'll  stop." 

"  I  don't  tliink  you  are  quite  correct  in  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Winifred,  with  a  boldness  that  frightened  her- 
self. "  Florian,  seemingly,  was  always  one  of  the 
strict  kind." 

"Mebbe,"  said  the  hermit,  resuming  his  book, 
while  Ruth  looked  her  absolute  doubt  of  Scott's  in- 
ferences eloquently. 

"  I  hain't  no  pretensions  to  bein'  a  prophet,"  he 
said  after  a  silence,  "  but  it'll  surprise  me  if  Flory 
don't  propose  to  ye  again'  down  thar,  an'  offer  to 
take  ye  jist  as  ye  stand,  atheist  or  Protestant,  an' 
get  mad  enough  to  do  wild  things  when  ye  re- 
fuse." 

"How  do  you  know  I'll  refuse?"  said  Ruth 
saucily. 

"  That's  so,"  and  Scott  smiled.    "  You  can't  know 


RUTH. 


113 


w 


a  woman  two  minutes  at  a  time,  an'  I'm  no  wiser 
than  other  men." 

"  "Well,  I'll  follow  your  advice  " — the  hermit  had 
not  given  any,  and  looked  at  her — "  and  go.  I'll 
avoid  Florian,  and  see  the  great  and  the  little  minds 
of  the  great  city,  and  pick  up  some  grace  that's  lying 
for  me  there  like  money  in  a  bank." 

The  hermit  studied  her  attentively  Avith  his  great 
blue  eyes. 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you,"  said  he  coldly,  "  that 
you  might  be  playin'  with  grace,  just  as  a  man  does 
with  a  stubborn  Jish  amusin'  hisself  i  " 

•'  No,"  she  interrupted  loudly,  and  with  such  in- 
dignation that  Mrs.  "Winifred  uttered  a  faint  cry. 
"  Do  not  accuse  me  of  that,  Scott,  never,  never,  accuse 
me  of  that," 

He  resumed  his  air  of  meek  indifference  at  once. 

"  Yet,  how  do  I  know,"  she  said  humbly,  "  Avhat 
sins  I  may  or  may  not  be  guilty  of?  But  in  this 
matter  I  have  been  so  much  in  earnest,  so  very  much 
in  earnest,  and  except  in  my  methods  I  can  find  no 
blame." 

She  had  no  more  to  say,  and  Scott  read  his  book 
in  a  way  that  politely  invited  their  departure. 

"  "Will  you  excuse  me  for  one  moment  ? "  said  she : 
"  I  am  going  to  take  a  view  of  the  river  from  the 
boulder  before  I  go." 

She  went  out  and  stood  on  the  spot  where  Florian 
had  knelt  and  prayed  of  mornings  during  his  retreat, 
and  dreamed  and  chatted  of  evenings.  The  scene 
was  like  the  buried  beauty  of  that  happy  time,  risen 
from  its  grave  in  white,  ghastly  cerements,  and  the 
weird  wind  moan  through  the  evergreens  gave  a 
8 


i 


"1 

1 

1 

t 

1 

1 

\i- 


114 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


voice  to  the  forlorn  ghost.  Would  it  never  look 
otherwise  to  her  again  ?  Could  she  ever  gaze  upon 
the  summer-scene  that  in  time  would  banish  this  pale 
specter  of  the  dead,  with  the  same  calm  and  joy  and 
sweetness  as  wlien  beside  her  stood  Florian  and 
Linda. 

"  If  I  cannot,"  said  she,  with  sadness, "  then  change 
of  heart  will  not  be  for  the  better." 

When  she  came  back,  after  ten  minutes  of  looking 
and  thinking  and  sighing,  Mrs.  AVinifred  was  putting 
on  her  wraps,  a  trifle  pale  and  tired,  and  very  con- 
fused and  frightened  from  her  tcte-a-tete  with  the 
hermit,  and  Scott  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  his  hands  behind  him,  and  his  chin  in  the  air, 
as  if  an  inspiration  had  seized  him.  But  Ruth  put 
no  emphasis  on  such  things,  and  bade  him  good-bye 
with  a  promise  of  seeing  him  again  when  she  had 
come  to  a  firm  and  conscientious  determination.  He 
went  with  them  across  the  river  and  through  the 
wood,  with  its  chattering  and  shivering  maples,  and 
over  the  channel  to  where  the  horse  and  cutter  still 
stood,  and,  as  was  his  custom,  stood  facing  them  under 
the  shadow  of  the  wintry  sky  until  they  were  out  of 
sight. 

"  Can  you  conceive  anything  more  lonely  ? "  said 
Ruth  ;  "  that  solitary  man  standing  in  such  a  solitude 
and  going  back  through  that  gloomy  wood  to  his 
home.     How  does  he  stand  it  ? " 

"I  think  him  a  saint,"  said  Mrs.  Winifred  so 
emphatically  that  Ruth  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 


CHAPTER  X. 


A    REUNION. 


When  the  MerrioHs  had  opened  house  for  the 
fashionable  season,  Ruth  and  the  Squire  were  re- 
ceived with  open  arms  by  the  vivacious  Barbara. 

"  The  first  tiling  I  shall  do,"  said  Mrs.  ^Merrion 
— "  and  oh  !  how  fortunate  you  came  along  as  you 
did,  Ruth,  for  1  was  making  my  head  ache  with  plans 
for  something  new  and  striking  for  my  first  event, 
and  couldn't  fnd  anything  to  suit — the  first  thing 
I  shall  do  is  to  have  a  music  party  and  nuike  it  the 
earliest  and  best  of  the  season.  How  can  it  be  other- 
wise witli  such  a  star  as  you,  so  unique  and  so  new  ? " 

Ruth  looked  at  Mrs.  Merrion  to  see  if  the  lady 
was  in  earnest  in  using  such  language,  antl  found 
that  she  was.  In  earlier  days,  when  Barbara  Mer- 
rion was  a  girl  at  Clay  burgh,  she  had  been  noted  for 
her  beauty,  brilliancy,  and  boldness.  It  was  the 
possession  of  these  qualities  which  won  for  her  a  hus- 
band, a  wealthy  nonentity  in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Mer- 
rion, whose  dull  faculites  had  been  quickened  under 
the  spell  of  the  girl's  dashing  presence.  Although 
a  relative  Ruth  had  no  affection  for  her.  There 
seemed  such  a  want  of  though  tfulness,  and  even  of 
good  principle,  in  her  disposition  that  no  amount 

of  respectability  and  correct  conduct  could  make  up 

115 


a 


116 


SOLITARY   I8LAND. 


for  it  in  her  eyes.  And  yet  Mrs.  "Xferrion  was  a 
model  of  behavior  and  very  i)opular.  How  any  one 
could  pretend  to  be  the  star  of  an  assemblage  with 
her  petite  figure  Jind  shining  face  present,  liuth  could 
not  understand.  Barbara's  features  were  small,  but 
of  a  fine  and  exquisite  type.  The  delicate  nose  and 
dark  eyes  showed  a  high  spirit,  and  reckless  though 
trained  disposition.  Beside  her  Ruth  felt  like  a  slow, 
heavy  being,  a  robin  beside  a  humming-bird.  While 
preparations  were  being  made  for  her  debut  the 
Squire  set  out  to  look  for  Florian  and  to  bring  him 
over  to  afternoon  tea,  if  possible.  Mrs,  Men  ion  was 
not  acquainted  with  him,  the  Squire  discovered,  to  his 
own  intense  disgust  and  astonishment.  She  had 
known  him  in  a  distant  way  as  a  good-looking  boy, 
in  Clayburgh,  whom  she  had  never  patronized  or 
spoken  to  simply  because  he  was  a  boy  of  her  own 
age  and  not  "  eligible." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  the  Squire,  "  you  don't  mean  to 
tell  me  that  you've  lived  ten  years  in  Brooklyn  and 
are  not  acquainted  with  the  handsomest  and  smartest 
fellow  in  New  York  City  ?  Now,  I  didn't  think  it 
of  you,  I  didn't." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Pendleton,  qu'en  voulez-vous  ? "  She 
had  a  silly  habit,  but  a  very  pretty  one  in  her  mouth, 
of  using  French  phrases  to  any  extent. 

"  Kan  vully-voo  ! "  repeated  the  Squire.  "  What 
nonsense !  Don't  be  flying  yer  nasty  French  at  me. 
I  say  it's  queer — don't  you,  Euth? — not  to  know 
Florian,  the  best,  the  smartest " 

"  How  can  I  know  them  all  ? "  said  Barbara  plain- 
tively. "  There  are  so  many  clever,  desirable  people 
come  and  go,  and  these  cities  are  so  large.    But  if 


A    REUNION. 


117 


you  will  bring  him  to  lunch  at  three  or  dinner  at 
six  I  shall  be  happy  to  know  him." 

"  Of  course  you  will,"  said  the  Squire,  with  a  loud 
sneer.  "But  I  won  :  bring  him;  you  won't  know 
him,  since  you  didn't  look  him  up  before.  Why,  ho 
and  Ruth  were  goi»ig  to  bo  married  once." 

"  Why,  father ! "  said  lluth  with  aa  emphasis  that 
startled  the  Squire  into  sucli  a  consciousness  of  his 
blunder  that  he  got  angry. 

"  Are  you  ashamed  of  it  ? "  said  he. 

"  No  ;  but  then  it's  unnecessary  to  speak  of  such 
things  to  eve  '   one,"  said  Ruth  disdainfull\\ 

"  Jest  as  you  say,"  snapped  the  Squire.  "  But  I'll 
bring  him  over.  Barbery,  and  you  can  see  jest  what 
a  fool  Ruth  can  make  of  herself  once  every  five 
years." 

"  Not  oftener  i "  said  Ruth  maliciously.  "  Now  if 
Barbara  could  see- 


V 


"  What  a  fool  I  can  make  of  myself  once  a  day, 
you  want  to  say  ?  Well,  say  it,  and  be  hanged," 
said  the  Squire.  "  But  I  know  a  good  man  when  I 
see  him,  and  I'd  hang  on  to  him  if  I  was  a  woman. 
So  I'll  bring  him,  Barbery,  shall  I  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Barbara  sweetly ;  "  and 
perhaps  wo  may  arrange  matters  so  that  Ruth  may 
not  be  so  hard-hearted  another  time." 

The  Squire  coming  round  in  lace  September  found 
Florian  at  home. 

"  How  do,  boy  ? ''  said  he,  poking  through  the  half- 
open  door  his  red,  jovial  face.  Florian  jumped  as 
if  shot,  and  paled,  while  the  Squire  roared  and 
squeezed  his  hands  again  and  again,  and  turned  him 
round  to  look  at  him,  and  was  full  of  delight  and 


5r- 


M 


f:i 


118 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


surprise  at  the  changes  he  saw.  The  noise  the  old 
man  made  attracted  another  red,  jovial  face  to  the 
door. 

"  Friends,  b'y  ? "  said  Peter,  recognizing  an  affinity. 
"  May  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Squire.  "  Friend  of  yours, 
Flory?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Florian,  vexed,  but  glad  of  the  intru- 
sion, too.  "  This  is  Peter  Carter,  journalist,  a  good 
man  in  his  way." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Peter,  wringing  the  Squire's 
hand  fiercely,  while  Pendleton  said  : 

*'  You've  heard  of  old  Pendleton,  if  you're  a  jour- 
nalist— got  mixed  up  with  the  two  governments  in 
Mackenzie's  rebellion." 

"Didn't  I  report  the  whole  thing?"  said  Peter 
with  enthusiasm — "  the  pursuit,  the  capture.  Why, 
man,  your  life  hung  on  a  thread." 

"  Yes,"  cried  the  delighted  Squire,  hugging  his 
thick  throat  with  both  hands ;  "  but  here  was  the 
thread,  boy — here  was  the  thread." 

"  Bedad,  Florian  this  is  quite  an  Irishman  ye  have 
for  a  friend,  if  I  might  judge  from  his  sentiments — 
hey,  b'y  ? " 

"  Irishman  !  "  said  the  Squire.  "  More  Irish  than 
he  is  with  his  cool,  political  blood  that'll  stand  any- 
thing and  smile.  I've  known  that  boy.  Carter,  since 
he  was  born,  almost,  and  he  was  just  as  cool  then 
as  he  is  now.  Not  enough  blood  in  him  to  like  any- 
thing "weaker  than  liquid  fire,  and  that  only  heated 
him.  I  tried  to  marry  him  to  a  daughter  of  niiue 
once,  but  she  wouldn't  stand  it — no,  sir,  wouldn't 
stand  it." 


*^ 


A   REUNION. 


119 


"  'Twas  a  great  pity,  now,"  said  Peter  seriously, 
for  it  struck  him  as  being  a  handy  way  of  getting 
rid  of  Florian's  pretensions  to  Frances.  "  Ye  missed 
it,  b'y,  didn't  ye  now." 

"  Rather,"  said  Florian  with  an  inward  groan. 

"  But  never  mind.  Carter,"  said  the  Squire,  with  a 
knowing  wink  of  the  highest  confidence — "  never 
you  mind ;  I  can  arrange  matters  when  1  take  'em 
in  hand,  an'  I'm  going  to  take  'em." 

"  As  Mr.  Pendleton  has  but  just  arrived,'"  said 
Florian  in  despair, "  and  I  have  some  matters  to  discuss 
with  liim,  would  you  mind  leaving  us  alone  for  a 
while  ? " 

"  But  I  want  to  see  you  again,"  said  the  Squire. 
"  Haven't  met  your  equal.  Carter,  since  I  came  to 
New  York.  You  shall  have  an  introduction  to  my 
daughter,  and  an  invitation  to  Mrs.  Merrion's  music 
party?  We'll  get  in  some  quiet  room  and  play 
whist  and  drink  punch  till  morning.  What  do  you 
say  ? " 

"  Your  heart's  in  the  right  place,  me  b'y,"  said 
Peter,  "  and  your  throat  too,  an'  both  guide  your 
head.  Same  way  with  Peter.  I  accept ;  I'll  go  if 
a  thousand  stood  in  the  way  and  Fll  help  ye  mend 
matters,  an'  give  ye  the  benefit  o'  my  experience 
in  the  town  ;  an'  if  ye  want  a  hand  in  the  little 
matter " 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Blorian  abruptly,  almost 
pushing  Peter  outside  the  door,  where  he  stood  for 
some  time  indignant,  and  thought  of  going  back  to 
fling  defiance  in  Florian's  face ;  but  as  that  might 
peril  his  chances  of  improving  the  Squire's  acquaint- 
ance, he  refrained  and  withdrew. 


it 


nr 


120 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


r^ 


i  * 


vn  « 


"  A  first-class  character,"  said  the  Squire,  "  a  real 
surprise.  Where  did  you  pick  him  up  ?  A  sort  of 
Irish  exile,  hey  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  a  rather  spongy  sort,"  said  Florian, 
who  was  not  at  all  as  patient  with  Peter  as  the  poet 
was. 

"  Spongy — that  is,  receptive.  Ah  !  I  understand. 
I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  But  now  you're  to  come  over 
to  lunch,  Mrs.  Merrion  said,  and  you  must  be  in- 
troduced to  get  a  bid  to  the  musicale,  you  know. 
Ruth's  just  dying  to  see  you,  and  so  is  Barbery, 
because  she's  surprised  to  know  there's  a  famous 
man  in  New  fork  that  doesn't  bow  down  to  her 
and  attend  her  parties.  Skittish  creature — you  re- 
call her  when  she  married  Merrion,  before  she  got 
into  long  dresses — but  almighty  nice  if  she  wants  to 
be.  And  now,  Flory,  I  just  ache  to  see  you  use 
your  points  well.  Ruth's  tired  of  things  in  gen- 
eral and,  if  you  try  riglitl}"^  you  are  going  to 
win  this  time,  if  you  want  to.  Why  I  swear  I  never 
thought  of  asking  you  that,  but  then  of  course  you 
do." 

"  It's  not  well  to  think  of  it,"  said  Florian,  who 
did  not  wish  to  give  the  garrulous  Squire  even  a  hint 
of  his  own  feelings. 

"  No,  I  s'])ose  not,"  said  the  Squire  dubiously  and 
grief-stricken  ;  "  but  then  I  might  have  known  you'd 
be  changed  and  more  particular,  now  that  you're 
famous." 

"  It  isn't  that,"  said  Florian — "  oh !  no,  not  that. 
I  think  very  much  of  Ruth,  but  then  I  would  not 
trouble  her  over  again  with  a  suit  that  would  not 
be  to  her  liking." 


A   REUNION. 


121 


"  If  that's  all  we'll  arrange  it  to  her  liking,  my  boy." 

But  for  all  his  cheerfulness  the  Squire  felt  more 
doubtful  about  his  pet  project  than  he  had  at  any 
time  since  its  conception.  They  went  at  once  to 
Brooklyn,  and  arrived  in  time  for  lunch,  and  the 
meeting,  which  in  Florian's  mind  Avas  to  have  been 
a  masterpiece  of  subdued  emotion  and  passion,  turned 
out  as  ordinary  as  could  be  desired. 

"How  do  you  do,  Ruth?"  said  the  handsome 
politician,  with  some  relief  in  seeing  how  little 
changed  Ruth  was. 

"  1  am  very  well,  Florian,  but  I  find  it  hard  to 
recognize  you,"  was  the  frank  reply.  She  pressed 
his  cold  hands  with  her  warm  ones  and  gazed  so 
calmly  into  his  twitching  face.  "  It  is  Florian," 
she  said  again,  "  but  oh !  how  changed.  Barbarba, 
let  me  introduce  you  to  my  friend  Mr.  Wallace. 
Florian,  Mrs.  Merrion." 

He  hardly  saw  the  beautiful  fairy  that  bowed  to 
him,  but  the  fairy  saw  him  with  all  her  eyes  and 
pronounced  him  a  perfect  man ;  saw,  too,  what 
simple  Ruth  did  not,  that  he  was  agitated  at  this 
meeting,  and  judged,  from  the  Squire's  beaming 
delight  and  Ruth's  ordinary  manner,  that  the  old 
romance  was  long  ago  ended,  much  against  the  wishes 
of  these  two  men.  "When  he  was  going  he  received 
his  invitation  to  the  musicale. 

"  And  there  is  a  poet-dramatist  in  the  same  house 
with  you,"  said  Barbara,  "  that  you  must  invite  also. 
We  leave  out  no  celebrities." 

"  And  there's  Mr.  Carter  in  the  same  place,"  said 
the  Squire — "  a  noted  journalist.  I  must  have  an 
invitation  for  him." 


tl  i 
1 1 


. 

■'if 

i! 

122 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  By  all  means,"  said  Barbara.  "  Madame  Lynch 
has  a  faculty  of  getting  around  her  the  most  unique 
people.     I  wish  I  had  it." 

Florian  went  away  sad  and  disappointed,  and  with 
a  feeling  that,  in  spite  of  fame,  inflnenno,  and  wealth, 
Ruth  was  fartlier  from  him  than  over. 

Paul  Kossiter  went  to  the  music  party  much  against 
his  will,  for  he  was  hard  at  work  on  a  play,  and  there 
were  matters  of  another  kind  demanding  his  atten- 
tion which  he  would  not  lay  aside  for  an  audience 
with  kings.  Florian  had  brought  him  to  see  Mrs. 
Merrion,  and  the  little  lady  had  pressed  him  so  hard, 
and  had  made  such  extravagant  promises  with  regard 
to  the  new  beauty  whom  she  was  to  introduce  to 
society,  that  he  consented  at  last.  When  Ruth  was 
introduced  to  him  he  saw  for  the  first  time  the  face 
of  liis  dreams  in  its  living  image,  although  its  ow^ner 
had  laid  aside  the  simple  yachting  dress  for  the  vol- 
uminous evening  costume  of  the  period ;  and  being 
unprepared,  he  had  started,  blushed,  stammered,  and 
not  come  to  himself  rightly  until  he  was  sitting  some- 
where and  the  voice  of  the  lady  was  talking  about 
Florian. 

"  And  you  are  a  friend  of  Florian  ?  I  am  so  very 
glad  to  know  it,  for  I  have  never  really  heard  who 
his  friends  \rere.  Do  you  not  think  him  a  very  nice 
gentleman  ?  And  they  tell  me  he  has  considerable 
political  influence  for  so  young  a  man." 

"  Oh  I  he's  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,"  said  Paul, 
wondering  all  the  time  if  he  were  really  talking  with 
the  original  of  the  picture,  "  and  his  influence  is 
simply  boundless  in  the  city.  He  has  been  in  the 
legislature,  he  will  go  to  Congress,  then  the  governor- 


A    REUNION. 


123 


ship,  and  the  presidency.  There  is  nothing  beyond 
that." 

"  So  he  finally  comes  to  nothing,"  Kuth  said  smil- 
ing. "  "What  an  ending  for  so  much  greatness  and 
influence  !  And  is  it  really  worth  while  struggling 
for  all  these  things,  when  they  come  to  so  little  at 
last?" 

"  Little  and  great  are  ;ill  alike,"  said  Paul.  "  The 
nothingness  we  come  to,  I  suppose,  makes  the  worth- 
less earthly  honor  all  the  more  valuable." 

"  Florian's  exact  words,"  said  Ruth.  "  Ah !  now  I 
can  see  you  are  very  good  friends,  for  you  have  his 
ideas,  and  he  has  yours,  no  doubt," 

"  I  have  his,  no  doubt,"  said  Paul,  "  but  if  he  has 
mine  they  must  be  very  useless,  being  mostly  fancies 
about  dreams.  How  easily  you  recognize  his  say- 
ings, Miss  Pendleton !  You  must  have  known  him 
very  well." 

"  "VVc  lived  in.  the  same  town  and  went  to  the  same 
school  for  years ;  and  then  we  were  friends.  Oh !  I 
know  Florian  as  if  he  were  my  brother.  His  sister  " 
— her  voice  faltered — "  was  a  dear  friend  of  mine ; 
and  if  you  know  him  you  must  like  him." 

"  And  I  do,  and  I  shall  like  him  all  the  more  if  his 
friendship  will  place  me  higher  in  your  favor." 

He  tremble'!  at  his  boldness,  but  she  received  it  as 
a  matter  of  course. 

"  1 — will  indeed.  Florian's  friends  must  all  be 
worth  knowing,  for  they  were  ever  the  choicest." 

They  talked  on  very  pleasantly  for  a  half  hour, 
and  then  others  came  to  disturb  the  delightful  tete- 
k-t^te  and  make  him  and  her  miserable ;  for  Ruth 
had  formed  a  sudden  and  strong  liking  for  this  warm- 


124 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


|l. 


li 


hearted  and  warm-featured  child  of  genius,  which 
fell  little  short  of  the  admiration  he  felt  for  her 
beauty.  Florian  had  vainly  tried,  when  once  freed 
from  the  conversational  charms  of  Barbara,  to  secure 
for  himself  a  confidential  talk  with  Ruth.  Fate, 
in  the  person  of  the  guests  of  Mrs.  Merrion  was 
against  him.  When  one  or  the  other  did  not  engage 
him  they  surrounded  Ruth  like  a  city's  walls,  for  the 
fair  girl  was  become  a  general  favorite  that  evening 
and  was  much  sought  after.  She  was  a  little  tired 
of  continuous  adulation,  and  kept  wishing  that  Paul 
would  make  his  appearance  again,  and  wondering 
why  Florian  did  not  join  those  sitting  about  her. 
Finding  an  opportunity  to  slip  unobserved  into  a 
recess  of  some  kind,  she  threw  herself  on  a  sofa,  re- 
lieved to  be  free  for  a  moment  from  the  glare  and 
heat  and  noise.  When  her  eyes  became  accustomed 
to  the  dim  light  of  the  place  she  perceived  that 
Florian  was  sitting  opposite  her. 

"  Is  it  you,  Florian  ? "  said  she.  "  Oh !  how  I  have 
tried  to  see  you  and  speak  to  you  this  evening." 

"  It  is  impossible  on  a  first  night,"  said  he  quietly. 
"  There  are  so  many  present,  and  your  face  is  new  to 
most  of  them.  It's  not  much  like  a  wusicale  in  Clay- 
burgh." 

"  I  think  ours  were  much  more  pleasant." 

"  Well,  I  should  hardly  feel  obliged  to  enjoy  them 
as  I  used,"  he  said,  with  the  worn  air  of  a  man  who 
had  exhausted  the  pleasure  contained  in  such  enter- 
tainments. "  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  been  there 
that  I  have  quite  forgotten  them." 

"  I  can  believe  you,"  she  said,  with  the  gentlest 
reproach  in  her  voice.    "  You  seem  to  have  forgotten 


A    REUNION. 


125 


everything  connected  with  the  poor  little  town  and 
its  glorious  river." 

"Not  everything,  Kuth.  I  remember  Linda's 
grave,  and  how  the  river  looks  when  only  the  stars 
are  shining  at  midnight  and  the  poor  child  lying 
there  alone." 

There  was  a  sob  in  his  voice,  and  the  mention  of 
Linda  stirred  Ruth  deeply.  She  had  felt  like  an 
artificial  woman  moving  in  her  strange  plumes 
through  the  brilliant  company,  and  had  wearied  of 
the  unvarying  round  of  formal  compliments  and 
praise;  but  at  this  touch  of  feeling  she  became  a 
Clay  burgh  girl  again,  and  it  was  Ruth  talking  with 
Florian  as  in  the  old  time. 

"  I  would  never  suspect  you  of  forgetting  that, 
Florian,  nor  the  hermit,  who  sent  so  many  kind 
regards  to  you." 

"  You  saw  him  often,  then?  " 

"  Not  very  often,  but  I  presumed  a  little,  perhaps, 
and  he  is  so  obliging,  if  a  little  cold,  and  he  spoke 
of  you  rarely,  but  it  was  always  something  wise  or 
good.  Did  you  ever  notice  how  pure  his  thoughts 
are — like  water  from  a  spring? " 

"  I  may  have  noticed  it,  but  it  did  not  impress  me, 
although  I  made  it  a  point  to  study  him.  He  has 
faded  from  my  mind  considerably,  and  I  would  find 
it  hard  to  reproduce  his  features  ;  but  I  know  what 
he  must  have  said  to  you  about  me  when  3'ou  were 
leaving." 

"Do  you?"  she  said  in  some  alarm.  "How 
can  you  know  that  when  I  have  not  told  you, 
Florian  ? " 

"  See  if  I  am  right.    *  You  will  find  him  changed 


126 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


1 

1"; 

i 

^   :i 

i 

■i 

S-j 

1 

f, 

1 

'.}■ 

i! 

!:     ,■ 

U 
^ 

t    ■ 
[    - 

for  the  worse,  my  dear,  and  he  will  surely  make  love 
to  you  again,'  said  Scott." 

"  You  are  a  magician,"  she  answered,  very  much 
embarrassed.  But  then,  imagining  that  Florian's 
boldness  must  arise  from  his  indifference  to  their 
past  state  of  feeling  she  felt  relieved  and  happy,  and 
laughed  with  him. 

"  I  think  he  must  have  said  something  like  it," 
she  said,  "  but  I  cannot  recall  the  words  used.  I 
wonder  how  much  of  it  is  true  ?  I  know  you  have 
not  been  guilty  of  the  last  charge,  and  will  not  be ; 
but  you  are  much  changed  in  heart,  Florian." 

"  "What  can  you  expect  from  the  atmosphere  in 
which  I  move  ? " 

"I  should  expect  that  if  it  were  very  bad  you 
would  go  away  from  it,"  she  replied  severely ;  "  you 
often  told  me  to  do  that,  and  common  piety  teaches 
it,  too." 

"  "Would  you  accuse  a  politician  of  piety  ? "  he 
demanded,  laughing. 

Ruth  was  silent.  There  was  something  hard  and 
forced  in  his  manner. 

"  You  cannot  be  pious  in  politics,"  he  went  on, 
understanding  very  well  her  feelings,  "  but  one  can 
keep  from  much  evil.  If  you  are  wealthy  or  in- 
fluential, or  married  to  a  good  woman,  you  can  keep 
from  all." 

"  And  as  you  are  not  wealthy " 

"  And  only  moderately  influential " 

"  You  ought  to  get  married,"  said  she ;  "  and,  in- 
deed, rumor  connects  your  name  ^vith  some  ladies 
very  closely." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  he  answered  vaguely,  and 


A  REUNION. 


12  ( 


'"elt  a  dumb  pain  stealing  over  him  at  the  perfect  in- 
diiference,  or  rather  the  friendly  and  sisterly  interest 
she  took  in  the  matter. 

"  Linda  would  be  so  pleased  to  know  you  were 
happily  suited  in  every  way,"  she  went  on,  "  and  I 
am  sure  I  would." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  he,  shaking  oflf  the 
stupor  that  had  seized  upon  him.  "  But  we  can  talk 
of  this  again.  You  are  not  altogether  out  of  my  life, 
Ruth,  and  you  may  have  as  much  to  say  as  Linda 
herself  in  the  matter  before  it  is  completed,  perhaps 


more. 


>j 


if 

'■X 


T 


!  I'i 


5'1     i 


H  I 


CHAPTER  XXL 


OLD  HOPES. 


Mrs.  Merriox's  pleasiiiit  home  became  the  center 
of  attraction  that  winter  for  most  of  our  friends  in 
Madame  Lynch's  establisliment.  Florian  admitted 
to  himself  that  absence  had  only  intensified  his  feel- 
ings towards  Ruth.  The  years  that  had  passed  since 
their  love  story  ended  had  honored  her  with  new 
personal  attractions.  Her  seriousness  seemed  less 
old-fashioned  and  more  suited  to  her  years  than  for- 
merly.  Her  well-cultured  mind  made  her  a  charm- 
ing companion.  She  had  a  kind  of  boldness,  too, 
which  came  in  agreeabl  v  on  certain  occasions.  When 
Barbara  insisted  on  dressing  her  as  nobly  and  richly 
as  her  appearance  and  years  would  sustain  she 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  innovation,  and  became 
all  at  once  a  beautiful  woman  in  the  best  sense  of 
the  phase,  beautiful  in  mind  and  body.  Florian  was 
astonished  at  her  glorious  bloom.  It  was  natural 
that  the  love  still  slumbering  in  his  heart  should 
awaken  to  an  intenser  life  than  ever.  He  did  not 
wait  to  discuss  the  situation  with  his  usual  caution. 
He  surrendered  at  once  to  so  much  loveliness,  partly 
conscious  that  this  flame  would  in  the  end  consume 
him. 

Innocent  Ruth,  deceived  by  the  calmness  of  his 

manner — there  was  always  a  certain  hopelessness  in 

128 


fc 


OLD    HOPES. 


129 


it,  even  when  his  chances  seemed  brightest — took  no 
pains  to  prevent  annoying  consequences.  She  had  a 
sincere  friendliness  for  Fiorian,  and  some  achniration 
for  his  character.  He  had  improved  since  liis  depar- 
ture from  Chayburgh.  His  was  a  distinguished  ap- 
pearance, and  there  was  about  him  such  a  conscious- 
ness of  strength  and  power  tliat  most  women  suc- 
cumbed to  it.  Barbara  Merrion  was  immensely 
taken  with  him.  It  was  owing  to  her  interference 
that  Fiorian  found  himself  so  often  in  Ruth's  com- 
pany. 

Lunches,  receptions,  and  theater  parties  brought 
together  every  week  the  boon  companions,  Peter  and 
the  Squire,  who  made  no  secret  of  their  hopes  and 
plans  to  marry  Ruth  and  F'lorian.  The  poet,  as 
often  as  he  said  to  himself  there  was  no  hope  for 
him  in  such  a  quarter,  yet  could  never  give  up  the 
chance  to  talk  with  Ruth  and  linger  in  her  presence. 
Mrs.  Merrion  received  none  of  his  confidences,  but 
aided  him  unsuspected  of  Fiorian  and  the  other 
plotters.  Thus  the  winter  went  on.  Pendleton  and 
Carter  planned,  debated,  and  feasted  day  and  night, 
counting  results  long  before  there  was  any  hope  of 
achieving  them.  Floriim  and  Paul  dreamed  pleas- 
antly, and  Ruth  was  dimly  aware  of  a  change  in  her 
own  interior  whose  form  she  could  not  make  clear 
to  her  perceptions.  Barbara,  the  gracious  marplot 
of  the  play,  received  new  confidences  daily  and  went 
about  with  the  pleasant  feelings  of  a  cat  who  has  a 
nest  of  young  mice  under  her  delicate  paw.  Only 
Paul  Rossiter  puzzled  her  still,  and  kept  her  from 
mischief.  However,  Fiorian  soon  cleared  the  fioM 
for  her,  and  left  her  free  to  do  what  mischief  she 
9 


ii 


130 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


pleased.  He  met  Paul  one  day  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  post  office,  and  the  poet  asked  him  why  he 
looked  so  pale  and  jaded. 

"  You  look  worse  than  I  ever  saw  you  before,"  he 
said. 

"  "Work  and  pleasure,"  Florian  answered  moodily, 
"  are  too  much  for  me.  These  soirees  have  upset  me, 
and  I  must  give  them  up." 

"  When  Miss  Pendleton  leaves,"  said  Paul  cau- 
tiously. 

"  Ah  1  you  know  that,"  said  Florian  quickly,  for 
in  all  the  winter  they  had  rarely  spoken  about 
Ruth. 

"  Who  could  help  knowing  it,  ray  dear  boy  ?  A 
retired  sort  of  a  young  man  begins  suddenly  to 
frequent  society,  and  is  always  seen  at  those  places 
where  a  certain  young  lady  is  sure  to  be.  Is  not 
the  inference  easy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  I  never  thought  of  that.  Others, 
perhaps,  will  talk  about  it.  But  then  she  has  not 
favored  me  more  especially  than  other  young  men." 

"  Myself,  for  instance.  I  should  say  not !  You 
are  modest,  of  course ;  a  successful  man  is  always. 
I  wish  you  happiness,  Florian,  for  I  think  you  are 
going  to  marry  an  excellent  woman." 

"  I  am  not  so  near  to  that  consmnnation,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "  so  your  compliments  are  ill-timed.  Did 
I  ever  tell  vou  that — w^ell  what  need  to  tell  it  now  'i 
I  suppose  you  are  aware  that  Miss  Pendleton  is  a 
Protestant  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Paul,  in  the  highest  astonishment. 
"  I  was  not.  On  the  contrary,  when  I  saw  the  at- 
tention you   paid  to  her,  and  how   intimate   you 


OLD    HUPES. 


131 


appeared  to  be,  I  thought  naturally  she  was  a 
Catholic." 

"  "Well,  that  was  a  quor  blunder  ?  And  have  you 
been  talking  of  the  Mass  and  confession,  and  other 
such  topics  to  a  Methodist  of  the  deepest  dye  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Paul ;  "society  is  such  a  hybrid  thing 
that  you  can  talk  only  nonsense  to  avoid  offending 
some  one.  But  then  isn't  this  a  returning  on  prin- 
ciple, Florian  i  Have  I  not  heard  you  say  many 
times  that  you  would  never  marry  outside  the  faith, 
and  hinted  that  you  had  already  made  sacrifices  that 
were  very  great  for  a  mere  boy  V^ 

"  Love,"  said  Florian,  concealing  his  confusion 
under  a  gay  exterior,  "  is  universal  and  levels  all 
distinctions." 

"  Or  rather,  it  is  irresistible,"  said  Paul,  with  a 
laugh.  "  It  can  level  the  lawyer  and  the  common 
man,  not  the  distinctions.  The  distinctions  remain, 
the  men  do  not.    But  really  this  is  a  surprise  to  me." 

Florian  could  hardly  congratulate  himself  on 
having  a  possible  rival  removed  from  the  field,  so 
very  dark  seemed  his  own  chances,  and  he  became 
unpleasantly  conscious  of  one  circumstance  before 
Paul  left  his  company.  The  poet  was  disappointed 
in  him.  Some  high  standard  as  to  his  friend's 
character  Paul  had  long  ago  formed  in  his  own  mind, 
and  until  this  moment  Florian  had  acted  up  to  it  in 
word  and  deed.  Now  the  standard  had  fallen.  He 
perceived  it  in  his  friend's  expression,  and  felt  hum- 
bled, all  the  more  that  the  departure  of  this  rival,  if 
he  were  a  rival,  did  not  mean  his  own  success.  They 
parted  in  gloom.  Paul  went  home  in  deep  medita- 
tion, and  its  chief  point  was  the  sweet  face  that  had 


il 


132 


SOLITAKV    ISLAND. 


r,o  long  haunted  him  and  was  now  to  disuppeur  like 
a  laid  ghost.  From  that  day  he  no  longer  sought 
out  Ruth,  was  careful  and  reserved  in  lier  presence, 
and  talked  only  on  the  prosiest  of  suljjects.  When- 
ever they  came  to  talk  of  religion,  she  commended 
many  points  of  Catholic  doctrine. 

"  Once,"  she  ventured  to  say,  "  I  had  neai-ly  made 
up  my  mind  to  become  a  Catliolic.  lUit  in  some 
way  or  another  the  design  weakened,  and  iinally  it 
became  repugnant  even  to  think  of  it." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  Paul.  "  It  seems  to  me, 
Miss  Pendleton,  that  once  you  brought  your  intel- 
ligence to  bear  on  a  thing,  something  certain  and 
good  ought  to  result  from  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  answered.  "  Now  that  I  have 
begun  I  may  as  well  finish  the  story.  Perhaps  I 
was  to  blame.  I  did  not  belong  by  conviction  to  any 
sect.  My  dear  mother  was  a  Methodist.  "When  I 
went  to  church  it  was  to  the  Methodists  I  went. 
To  tell  the  truth  T  cared  little  for  them.  T  fell  into 
a  kind  of  enthusiasm  over  your  church  and  read, 
thought,  and  prayed  a  little,  and  when  my  enthu- 
siasm cooled    I  dropped  the  matter." 

"  May   I  ask,"  said  Paul,  "  what  you  believe  in 


now 


?" 


"  In  everything  good,"  smiling  as  he  shook  his 
head,  "  You  thind  that  too  vague  i  Well,  I  lost 
heart,  not  for  religion,  but  for  any  particular  shape 
of  it " 

"  Except  your  own,"  he  interrupted. 

"  True.  And  I  go  to  any  church  that  suits  the 
taste  of  the  moment,  now,  and  I  am  quite  content, 
if  my  reason  is  not  quite  satisfied." 


I'' 


OLD    HOl'KS. 


133 


"  You  made  a  mistake  somewhere." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  Where  ? "  She  was  pleased  at 
his  finding  fault  with  her  so  candidly  and  earnestly. 

"Why,"  said  Paul  dubiously,  "  that  enthusiasm 
which  made  you  uneasy  with  yourself  and  set  you 
hunting  for  more  light,  was  a  special  grace  from  God. 
If  you  had  used  it  rightly,  you  would  now  be  a 
Catholic,  or  at  least  a  hearty  believer  in  something. 
Whereas,  you  are  not  umch  of  anything." 

"  That  is  severe,  Mr.  Rossiter.  I  could  not  take 
warmly  to  Methodism,  nor  to  any  sect.  They 
seemed  too  cold,  or  too  silly,  or  too  unreasonable. 
Your  faith  seemed  too  warm,  and  too — too — foreign, 
1  suppose  that's  the  word." 

He  laughed  and  changed  the  subject,  but  his  words 
were  not  forgotten.  They  gave  Ruth  a  sudden  and 
clear  insight  into  her  former  state  of  mind,  and  she 
saw  at  once  the  blunder  she  had  committed  in  resist- 
ing the  guidance  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  After  her 
failure  to  appreciate  the  claims  of  one  religious 
belief  she  had  drifted  gently  away  from  all,  and  had 
acquired  a  certain  distrust  of  creeds.  She  l^'id  not 
become  a  better  woman.  Her  charities  were  large 
enough,  but  the  perfe'^'ting  of  her  own  nature  was 
almost  lost  sight  of,  ard  she  v.'as  in  one  respect  only 
a  small  improvem.'nt  on  a  virtuous  pagan.  Her  first 
impulse  wjis  to  repair  the  mischief  of  omission.  But 
how  ?     She  asked  Paul  the  question  a  week  later. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  "  you  must  find  a  way 
yourself.  Test  your  belief  by  practising  it,  and  when 
y^  .  'ret  some  clear  ideas  of  religious  duty,  the  rest 
will  be  ojisy,  no  doubt." 

What  could  be  more  ])rudent  and  sensible  than 


^i 

1: 

vi 

\^. 

1'  lii 

;| 

111 


Pi' 


184 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


!n 


such  a  course.  She  followed  it  carefully  the  entire 
winter,  to  the  intense  delight  of  Barbara,  who,  not 
seeing  the  reason  for  it,  used  it  as  an  argument  for 
the  Squire  and  Mr.  Carter.  When  they  grumbled 
at  Paul's  steady  attention  to  Ruth,  she  pointed  out 
to  them  the  devotion  which  Ruth  displayed  in  attend- 
ing the  Methodist  church  and  working  for  city 
charities. 

"  But  Flory  won't  like  it,"  said  the  Squire.  "  He 
can't  marry  a  howling  Methodist " 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Pendleton,"  said  Barbara, "  he  will 
marry  Ruth  if  she  worshipped  idols." 

"  Aye,"  said  Peter,  "  if  she  were  the  grand  Lama 
itself." 

"  Think  so  ? "  murmured  the  Squire,  and  he  tried 
to  believe  it  on  the  ground  that  the  boy  had  got 
more  sense  and  judgment  from  his  stay  in  New  York. 
He  did  not  like  Ruth's  sudden  turn  to  religion. 

"  There's  something  wrong,"  he  said  to  Florian. 
"  She  always  hated  the  Methodists.  "What  is  she  so 
gone  on  them  for  now,  I'd  like  to  know.  You  re- 
member, Flory,  the  last  time  she  kicked  on  you  ?  It 
was  just  after  one  of  these  religious  spells.  And  if 
she  doesn't  wind  up  by  doing  the  same  thing  now, 
then  I'm  not  the  man  who  got  left  with  Mackenzie 
on  the  north  side  of  the  St.  Lawrence." 

Florian  quieted  him  for  the  time  with  the  assur- 
ance that  Ruth  would  not  remain  long  with  her  pres- 
ent associations.  He  was  quite  right.  Ruth  soon 
tired  of  her  attempts  to  fall  in  love  with  Methodism, 
but  did  not  lose  the  desire  to  find  a  resting  place, 
and  she  was  bound  not  to  return  to  the  old  ways  of 
indifference.    Again  she  asked  Paul's  advice,  one 


OLD  HOPES. 


136 


bright  evening  as  Barbara  and  she  were  returning 
from  devotions  at  the  Cathedral.     He  gave  it  briefly. 

"  Try  something  else,  Miss  Pendleton." 

"  There  is  nothing  left  but  your  faith,"  said  she, 
"  and,  while  I  do  not  care  to  approach  it  again,  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  follow  your  advice,  and 
study  it  once  more." 

"  In  the  right  spirit,"  he  suggested. 

"In  the  right  spirit.  I  do  not  hope  to  find  com- 
fort there,  but  constant  trying  will  bring  me  to  a 
conclusion  of  some  kind." 

"  Very  true,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand.  "  I  hope 
you  will  make  this  resolution.  Miss  Pendleton,  and 
follow  wherever  it  will  lead  you.  If  you  do,  I  am 
certain  you  will  find  rest  and  happiness.  If  you  do  not 
you  will  be  a  most  unhappy  woman.     Good-night." 

She  replied  in  a  low,  trembling  voice.  He  had 
been  standing  hat  in  hand,  with  the  moonlight  fall- 
ing upon  his  remarkable  face,  and  shining  in  his 
honest  eyes.  In  that  moment  Euth  loved  the  poet. 
She  was  not  conscious  of  it,  only  of  his  goodness, 
but  in  iift  .»r  years  she  knew  that  lier  heart  Avent  out 
to  biru  la  that  moment,  and  was  never  withdrawn. 

Ijg'itly  as  Paul  received  the  information  of  Ruth's 
rclig io'j.i  belief  from  Florian,  it  had  hurt  him  deeply. 
It  vvTii  ■:.ot  the  poet's  way  to  make  nmch  of  a  hope- 
less matter,  particularly  when  it  bordered  on  affairs 
of  conscience,  and  in  the  present  instance  he  had 
hastened  to  remove  many  old  impressions  with  re- 
gard to  Rutli,  and  Avas  very  careful  to  chase  from 
his  dreams  the  sweet  fancies  concerning  her  which 
i^*ad  beguiled  and  lightened  some  heavy  hours.  He 
had  seen  at  once  what  sort  of  a  woman  Ruth  was — 


m 


186 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


V 

;  i 


no  tritler  to  pay  liido-aiid-seeU  with  the  serious  things 
of  life,  but  a  woman  full  of  earnestness — and  he 
could  therefore  the  more  easily  understand  why 
Florian  had  not  succeeded  in  making  her  his  wife. 
Marrying,  with  her,  was  a  matter  of  ])rinci])le,  not  of 
feeling  or  of  convenience  oi*  advantage  alone.  She 
had  deep  convictions  of  the  truth  and  falsity  of  re- 
ligions, and  of  the  necessity  of  one  true  faith,  and 
hei  .latural  mental  clt  ^  ic^.s  forbade  her  imperiling 
tliese  for  tho  sake  of  hei  <  ikings.     It  was  a  firm 

soul  indeed  whicii  could  re^  the  heavy  temptations 
to  which  she  had  been  subjected,  and  he  admired  her 
the  more  for  it,  and  prayed  sincerely  that  her  good- 
ness might  win  for  her  an  entrance  into  the  holy 
harbor  this  bide  of  heaven.  She  had  seemed  to  be 
in  a  state  of  doubt,  and  he  had  said  some  sharp, 
earnest  woi'ds  to  her,  partly  because  his  deepest  in- 
terest in  her  was  dead  and  he  was  not  afraid  of 
offending,  but  more  because  he  had  taken  her  state- 
ments without  due  attention  to  the  exaggeration  of 
fancy.  He  did  not  believe  she  was  as  uncertain 
about  Methodism  as  she  thought.  She  had  read  and 
thought  enough,  no  doubt,  to  get  misty  and  unsettled 
in  her  religious  views.  But  one  does  not  leave  old 
beliefs  hastily,  particularly  so  reverent  and  firm  a 
believer  as  Ruth,  and  the  very  contemplation  of  a 
change  wouhl  be  ap^  to  make  her  cling  more  tightly 
to  old  certainties.  Women,  too,  as  a  rule,  are  dis- 
trustful to-day  of  the  strength  and  truth  of  emotions 
which  moved  them  yesterday.  Of  this  Ruth  herself 
was  an  example,  and  she  was  probably  now  laughing 
over  her  own  sentiment  and  his  severity  during  their 
walk  from  the  cathedral. 


i 


■*.  1 


OLD   HOPES. 


187 


i 


But  in  this  he  was  wrong,  and  at  his  next  visit 
she  said :  "  I  was  very  much  disturbed  that  evening 
coming  from  church,  and  was  half  resolved  to  go 
away  from  Kew  York  at  once." 

"  But  you  have  thought  better  of  it,  I  see.  The 
music  and  the  solemn  service  on  a  moonlight  night 
give  one  enthusiastic  notions,  i  am  inclined  always 
after  them  to  go  away  and  be  a  hermit ;  but  a  sound 
sleep,  or,  better,  an  oyster  supper  on  the  way  home, 
brings  me  back  to  my  senses." 

"  Oh  1  but  it  was  not  the  music,  Mr.  Rossiter.  I 
had  thought  of  many  things  a  long  time,  until  I 
knew  not  what  to  do,  and  I  came  to  Xew  York  partly 
in  the  hope  of  forgetting  my  mental  troubles.  I  was 
succeeding — ^yes,  I  think  I  was  succeeding — when 
your  words  spoiled  all.  "Were  you  enthusiastic  that 
evening,  Mr.  liossitei*,  were  you  too  earnest  ? " 

"  I  have  thought  so  since,"  he  said  hesitatingly, 
"  but  what  I  said  was  in  itself  true.  When  persons  are 
in  a  state  of  doubt  they  are  bound  to  get  out  of  it." 

"  But  doubt  is  sometimes  a  temptation." 

"  It  can  b'3  banished  by  prayer,  then,  or  by  re- 
moving the  exciting  causes.  But  as  I  understood 
you,  your  doubt  had  only  increased  with  time  and 
thinking.  There  was  something  more  in  it  than 
mere  temptation.  I  know  that  even  in  that  case  an 
honorable  doubt  can  be  smothered,  for  there  are 
many  to  whom  such  a  grace  was  given  and  of  thei)- 
own  will  they  destroyed  it.  I  would  not  be  in  their 
shoes  for  worlds. 

"  But  now,"  added  he  playfully,  and  sorry  to  be  so 
quickly  drawn  into  this  subject,  "  I  shall  frighten 
you  again  by  my  earnestness." 


Ml 
!  I 


I 


!  !•; 


iiM 


1 


I 

1^1 


)i;  J 


1 1 


138 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  No,  no ;  1  am  utterly  helpless,  Mr.  Rossiter,  and 
confused  too.  Let  me  tell  you  just  the  kind  of 
doubts  Avhich  trouble  me.  Your  church  has  received 
so  many  Protestants  that  you  must  know  something 
of  their  general  state  of  mind,  and  perhaps  you  can 
help  me.  Pray  do  not  refuse  me,"  when  he  had  be- 
gun to  decline  the  honor.  "  I  know  what  you  would 
say,  and  it  only  urges  me  the  more  to  speak  to  you. 
Remember  you  are  partly  responsible  for  my  late  an- 
noyances, and,  like  an  honest  gentleman,  you  must 
help  me  out  of  my  difficulties." 

She  did  not  give  him  time  to  raise  any  great  ob- 
jections, but  i)oure(^  out  ho^c  story.  It  was  plainly 
and  sensibly  done,  and  he  had  no  fault  to  find  with 
her. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  "  that  you  are  in  a  peculiar 
state.  I  don't  believe  any  advocate  of  Methodism 
could  ever  convince  you  of  its  truth  again." 

"  Then  you  would  advise  me " 

"  I  would  rather  not  take  such  a  responsibility," 
he  interrupted.  "  It  is  easy  for  you  to  draw  infer- 
ences from  what  I  have  said.  I  can  fancy  your 
father  and  friends  would  not  be  very  grateful  to  me 
for  any  advice." 

"  They  are  of  very  little  account  to  me,"  she  be- 
gan, and  then  stopped.  "  "What  does  it  matter  ? " 
she  continued.  "  And,  indeed,  I  am  hasty  and  un- 
kind in  dragging  you  into  difficulty.  I  must  beg 
your  pardon  and  thank  you  for  your  kindness." 

"  I  fear  you  will  think  me  timid,"  he  said,  "  but  in 
this  country  we  are  suspicious  of  converts.  Religious 
thought  is  not  very  deep,  and  religious  feeling  not 
very  steady.    Women,  too,  are  emotional  creatures, 


OLD   HOPES. 


139 


especially  in  religion.  Some  very  bad  blunders  have 
already  been  committed.  I  do  not  wish  to  add  to 
them.  Let  God's  grace  work  its  way,  and  whatever 
I  can  do  to  aid  it  I  shall  do,  but  prudently." 

"You  speak  wisely,"  she  replied,  and  then  the 
conversation  ended  with  Barbara's  entrance. 

It  was  the  last  time  they  were  to  meet  in  years, 
for  Ruth  took  the  resolution  that  evening  to  retire 
for  a  time  into  a  convent,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
departure  found  no  opportunity  to  call  the  poet  to 
her  side  again.  And  Barbara  Merrion  was  so  eager 
to  get  rid  of  her,  that  she  too  forgot  the  propriety 
of  affording  him  the  consolation  of  a  farewell  meet- 
ing. 


m 


f  m 


■   !.,  S 


i  i 


f 


m 


P; 


CHAPTER  XII. 


KEJKCTEl). 


iff    ! 


In  his  luxurious  rooms  Florian  was  sitting,  ar- 
rayed in  his  dressing-gown,  his  hands  clasped  idly 
on  his  lap,  his  gaze  wandering  and  frightened  ;  while 
before  him  stood  the  red,  vexed,  irritated  Squire 
who  had  brought  in  the  news  of  Ruth's  intended 
departure. 

"  What's  to  be  done,  Flory — what's  to  be  done  ? " 

Florian  knew  there  was  but  one  thing  to  be  done, 
and  the  utter  hopelessness  of  success  made  him  de- 
spondent. This  was  not  as  he  would  have  had  the 
scenery  and  properties  when  he  came  to  declare  his 
love.  Pendleton  had  told  him  nothing  more  than 
that  Ruth,  disturbed  by  her  old  religious  doubts, 
was  going  away  to  a  convent.  There  was  nothing 
to  account  for  the  train  of  thought  and  feeling  which 
had  led  up  to  so  surprising  an  event ;  if  the  Squire 
knew  anything  he  declined  to  talk  about  it. 

"  I  had  thought,"  said  Florian  helplessly,  "  of  re- 
newing an  old  proposal." 

"  Had  you,  my  boy — had  you  ? "  cried  Pendleton. 
"  Then  it's  the  only  thing  that  will  stop  this  flight 
— the  only  living,  almighty  thing." 

"  But  it's  useless  to  try  it  under  such  circumstan- 
ces," Florian  continued.     "  She  is  upset  in  mind  ;  she 

has  not  shown  any  particular  care  for  me  since — 

140 


5> 


REJECTED. 


141 


"  What,  Florv  I  "  said  the  Squire,  "  what  are  you 
talking  of,  lad  i  Not  shown  any  particular  care  for 
you !  Why,  man,  it  has  been  nothing  but  Florian  here 
and  Florian  there  to  her  friends,  to  her  acquaint- 
ances, and  to  sti'angei's  since  she  came  to  New  York. 
'  Do  you  know  Florian  Wallace?'  was  her  first 
(juestion,  until  Mrs.  Merrion  had  to  tell  her  it  looked 
as  if  you  were  engaged  still." 

Florian's  shrew^der  sense  told  him  that  the  Squire's 
likings  had  taken  the  place  of  his  powe.s  of  obser- 
vation, but  it  was  verv  sweet  to  know  that  some 
people  thought  Ruth  willing  to  renew  the  old  re- 
lationship. And  she  was  going  away  i  It  might  be 
the  last  chance  of  teating  her  feelings,  and  if  the 
result  were  unfavorable  no  harm  would  be  done. 
They  would  be  sure  to  undei'stand  each  other  better. 

A  great  slice  of  the  romance  of  Florian's  character 
had  been  devoured  by  the  capacious  jaws  of  his 
political  ambition.  Sensi)>ility  and  delicacy  were 
less  fine,  evidently,  or  he  would  have  seen  how  very 
much  injury  this  surrender  of  old  principle  ^vould  do 
him,  and  how  hurtful  it  was  to  his  own  sense  of  honor 
and  religion.  Me  looked  at  the  position,  not  as  a 
lo^'er  torn  with  doubts  as  to  the  result  of  his  action, 
but  as  a  man  of  the  world  taking  his  chances, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  at  failure,  mildly  muttering 
bravo  at  success.  It  was  not  a  thing  to  be  mourned 
over  long,  though. 

"  If  you  wouldn't  insist  on — on  the  old  condition," 
the  Squire  began. 

"  Nonsense ! "  said  Florian.  "  I  have  got  over 
that.    I'll  take  her  no  matter  how  she  comes." 

"  O  Lord  ! "  cried  the  delighted  father,  "  then  it 


sn 


! 


■MBII 


142 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


ipij  i 


11  '  J 


is  settled.  She'll  not  go  to  the  convent.  Now,  my 
lad,  just  brush  up  and  get  over  to  Barbery's  for 
lunch,  for  she's  packing  up  and  may  be  off  at  any 
moment." 

Florian  felt  as  he  dressed  that  his  position  was 
similar  to  that  of  one  arraying  himself  for  decapita- 
tion. But  he  proceeded  calmly  and  heroically  to  his 
doom,  and  at  two  o'clock  that  afternoon  was  lunch- 
ing with  Barbara  and  Kuth  in  the  pretty  dining- 
room  in  Brooklyn.  Ruth  was  pale  and  worn,  but 
determined.  Florian  knew  that  look  of  old  and 
what  it  meant,  better  than  her  father.  He  received 
notice  of  her  departure  with  an  air  of  well-bred  sur- 
prise. "  There  is  one  consolation  in  it,"  Barbara 
said — "  it's  the  end  of  the  season.  But  then  there 
was  so  much  for  Ruth  to  see  which  does  not  belong 
to  fashionable  life,  and  so  many  people  will  be  dis- 
appointed." 

"  The  disappointment  of  the  many  troubles  Ruth 
very  little,"  said  he,  with  pointed  reference  to  her 
indifferent  expression. 

"  I  never  thought  of  them,"  Ruth  answered 
wearily,  "  and  I'm  sure  they  never  once  thought  of 
me ;  nor  do  I  care." 

"  You  never  did,"  said  Florian,  and  both  ladies 
felt  an  iciness  in  the  tone  that  gave  a  double  mean- 
ing to  the  words.  When  the  lunch  was  ended 
Barbara  left  them  together. 

"  This  sudden  flight,"  said  Florian, "  looks  remark- 
able, but  I  know  you  never  do  anything  hastily.  Is 
it  a  homeward  flight  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Ruth  frankly,  "  it  goes  heavenward — 
at  least  I  hope  so." 


REJECTED. 


143 


<( 


You  are  always  flying  in  that  direction,"  ho 
said  with  quiet  sarcasm. 

"  Not  always,  but  I  am  to  make  a  good  effort  tliis 
time."  And  her  lips  were  compressed  for  an  instant. 
"  I  am  disgusted  witli  my  own  doubts  and  I  am 
going  to  rid  myself  of  them  forever.  T  am  in  a 
search  for  certainty." 

"  I  offered  it  to  you  once,"  he  said  indifferently. 

"  And  I  am  sure  I  did  well  in  refusing  it  then^ 
Florian." 

Why  did  she  put  such  a  stress  on  that  last  word  \ 
It  made  his  heart  bound  like  a  frightened  deer,  but 
he  was  silent  until  she  added :  "  And  don't  you 
think  so  too  ? " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  If  it  was  for  your  benefit,  I  say 
yes ;  but  if  it  has  condemned  me  to  a  course  of 


»» 


suffering  that  ambition  alone  could  sraother- 

Her  amused  laugh  interrupted  him. 

"  Then  you  smothered  it  with  ambition  ? " 

"  With  the  aid  of  hopelessness,"  he  answered 
bitterly.  "  Did  I  not  know  you  well  and  myself 
too  ? " 

"  I  must  say  you  did,  and  I  am  sorry  to  think  I 
did  not  know  you  better.  Through  all  this  winter  I 
was  afraid  you  would  propose  again." 

"  The  winter  is  not  over  yet,  Euth." 

"  But  I  am  gone  from  the  world.  Florian,  I  shall 
never  come  to  New  York  again.  I  like  home  best, 
and  if  I  come  into  the  world  once  more  it  will  be  to 
live  and  die  outside  of  this  turmoil  and  uproar.  You 
cannot  applaud  that  decision  ? " 

No,  for  I  had  hoped  to  induce  you  to  remain  in 
long  as  I  would."     His  face,  in  spite  of  his  self- 


(( 


pi 


Ui 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


';! 


i^! 


I,   f' 


control,  grev/  for  one  moiiicnt  nshcn  pale,  and  the 
tone  which  accompanied  these  words  brought  Ruth 
to  her  feet  flushing  with  pain. 

"  O  Florian,"  she  cried,  "  vou  surclv  don't  mean 
to " 

"  Why  not  i "  he  answered  severely.  "  You  may 
have  cast  aside  my  love  easily  enough,  but  I  find  it 
harder  to  forget.  Ruth,  I  have  not  ceased  to  love 
you  since  I  leftClayburgh,  nor  have  I  ceased  to  hope. 
You  are  looking  for  certainty  and  rest.  You  will 
find  them  here."  And  he  held  out  his  arms 
invitingly. 

"  If  you  were  not  so  very  sincere,"  she  saitl,  and 
stopped.  There  was  a  restrained  and  awkward 
silence  for  a  long  time,  until  both  came  slowly  to 
their  cooler  selves. 

"  Y'ou  have  honored  me,  Florian,"  she  said  gently ; 
"but  it  is  an  honor  I  cannot  accept.  I  am  still  a 
Protestant " 

"  Pray  let  tiiat  pass,"  he  said  hastily.  "  I  do  not 
insist  on  your  becoming  a  Catholic.  My  love  has 
risen  above  such  distinctions." 

The  hand,  which  she  placed  on  his  shoulder  fell 
from  it  suddenly  and,  looking  up,  he  saw  an  expres- 
sion of  surprise  and  grief  on  her  face  and  quickly 
interpreted  it. 

"  I  had  always  thought  that  a  principle  with  you," 
she  said  slowdv. 

"  Principles  suffer  from  the  wear  of  time,"  he 
answered,  "  as  well  as  ourselves,  though  we  are 
immortal." 

"  O  Florian ! "  She  spoke  the  words  in  deepest 
sorrow.    "  I  hope  there  are  very  few  things  to  which 


REJECTED. 


146 


you  cling  as  poorly.  That  is  one  of  my  principles 
yet.  You  accused  me  a  moment  ago  of  forgetting, 
but  that  I  have  not  forgotten." 

"  It  is  because  I  lovo  you,"  he  replied  sadly  ;  "and 
I  fear  I  could  forget  much  more  because  of  you." 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  it,  Florian." 

"  O  Iluth !  "  Her  two  hands  were  on  her  lap  and 
he  seized  them  passionately.  "  Is  there  no  hope  ? 
Can  we  never  resurrect  that  sv,'(!et  past  that  lies 
buried  with  Linda  by  the  riv^er?" 

"  Never," — slie  said  the  words  with  an  elTort — "  no 
more  than  wo  can  resurrect  Linda," 

lie  dropped  her  hands  with  a  long  look  of  grief 
and  pain ;  he  realized  fully  that  he  was  losing  her 
forever,  and  her  last  words  put  his  sentonr  in  its 
best  form  so  that  lie  coukl  not  raisunderstantl  it. 

"  But  you  must  know  why  I  am  going,"  she  said 
after  a  pause ;  "  for  you  are  my  best  friend,  and, 
although  you  have  hurt  me  by  this  scene,  T  cannot 
but  feel  that  you  have  honored  me  beyond  deserving. 
Do  you  know  that,  while  I  could  not  join  the 
Catholic  Church  or  leave  my  own,  I  always  had  a 
doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  Methodism,  but  it  took  long 
to  convince  me  that  my  position  of  doubt  was  sinful. 
I  have  found  out  at  last  that  to  remain  willingly  in 
that  state  is  sin,  and  by  the  grace  of  God  I  am  going 
to  rid  myself  of  it  forever." 

"  If  you  had  had  that  feeling  in  the  old  days," 
said  Florian,  "  what  a  happy  story  ours  would  have 


been 


)> 


"  Why  did  you  not  give  me  the  feeling  ?  "  she  said 
sharply.  "  Why  did  you  leave  it  for  Mr.  Rossiter 
todof" 


ID 


146 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


1 


m 


SJ! 


flir 


"  It  was  an  oversight,"  he  said  in  surprise.  "  But 
I  was  not  aware  that  Paul  talked  religion  to  you. 
He  is  stricter  even  than  I  am  in  such  matters." 

"  I  told  him  of  my  former  nearness  to  the  Church, 
and  he  lectured  me  one  night  for  not  making  proper 
use  of  the  graces  I  had  then  received,  and  filled  me 
with  dread  of  ray  present  position.  It  has  rankled 
in  my  heart  since.  It  has  led  to  my  present  deter- 
mination.    Ah !  he  has  the  poet's  soul." 

"  It  was  a  moonlight  night  ?  "  questioned  Florian. 

"  I  think  so.  Yes,  I  remember  now  it  was.  His 
eyes  shone  so  when  he  bade  me  good-night,  and  he 
stood  looking  upward." 

"  I  thought  it,"  he  said  quietl}',  and  she  did  not 
notice  the  sarcasm,  for  her  memory  was  dwelling 
on  the  splendor  of  the  poet's  eyes.  "  And  so  you  are 
going  away  to  hunt  up  the  blessed  certainty  of  the 
faith !  Is  it  not  a  queer  place  to  settle  one's  doubt 
in  a  hot-bed  of  Catholicity  ?  For  instance,  if  I  went 
to  the  Whigs  to  learn  the  strength  of  some  doubts  I 
had  concerning  Democracy." 

"  I  am  certain  of  this,"  said  she :  "  that  Method- 
ism is  not  Christianity,  and  I  am  going  to  investi- 
gate Catholicity  where  it  shines  brightest,  and  take 
that  as  the  standard." 

"  "Well,  that  is  wise.  When  you  return  to  Clayburgh 
I  shall  be  sure  to  meet  you,  for  I  am  going  up  there 
some  day.  I  shall  wait  until  you  shall  return,  or 
mayhap  longer  if  politics  offer  me  inducements." 

"  You  say  that  because  you  think  I  would  say  it," 
she  replied.  "  You  will  never  go  to  Clayburgh  to 
see  anybody,  Florian  ;  you  will  never  see  it  again, 
unless  on  business  or  when  brought  there  to  die.     If 


7 


3 


0 


f 


REJECTED. 


147 


you  can  prophesy  of  me,  why  not  I  of  you  ?  Grrnl- 
bye.     Why  did  you  not  bring  your  poet  with  you  i ' 

"  He  knows  nothing  of  your  departure.  You 
would  have  gone  without  a  word  to  him,  to  whom 
you  should  be  very  grateful." 

"  I  shall  be,"  she  said  very  tenderly,  "  always." 

And  so  they  parted.  Barbara  met  him  in  the  hall 
on  his  way  out,  and  was  surprised  and  pleased  to  so  j 
no  evidence  of  strong  emotion  about  him.  She  had 
looked  for  a  romantic  love  storm. 

"  Now  that  we  are  losing  Ruth,"  said  she,  "  I  trust 
we  shall  not  also  lose  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  fre- 
quently." 

"  That  would  be  a  distinction  I  never  could  have 
deserved,"  said  Ruth.  "Florian  can  never  forget 
your  kind  hospitality." 

"  True,"  said  Florian  ;  "  if  I  could  I  would  be  sadly 
wanting  in  gratitude." 

"  Is  it  so  amicably  settled  ? "  whispered  Barbara 
to  him  at  the  door ;  and  when  he  nodded,  she  said, 
"  I  am  so  very  glad.  "Wo  shall  not  lose  you  entirely." 
And  Florian  departed,  puzzled,  disappointed,  yet 
pleased  by  the  tender  tone  of  her  voice. 


>  1 


i 


It 


\itU 


1 


;  It' 


■ill 

[I      ': 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


THE  INQUISITORS. 


With  the  flight  of  Ruth  the  second  act  in  the  comedy 
ended,  and  the  curtain  was  rung  down  on  Madame 
Lynch's  boarding-house.  Very  much  lilce  a  deserted 
playhouse  it  looked  in  the  days  that  followed. 
Florian  was  deep  in  the  preparation  for  a  congres- 
sional campaign  with  Jiis  name  at  the  head  of  the 
ticket,  so  that  he  was  rarelv  seen  in  tlie  handsome 
rooms  where  hung  the  yachting  picture.  Frances, 
buoyed  up  by  a  hope  which  love  only  could  hold  out 
to  her,  was  touched  at  times  with  the  green  melan- 
choly, but  smiled  oftener  and  was  happy  at  a  word 
or  a  look  from  her  ideal  of  manhood.  Paul  worked 
away  in  the  attic  at  plays,  essays,  and  poems,  and 
was  troubled  because  of  a  sudden  coldness  which  had 
sprung  up  between  him  and  Florian.  Peter  and  the 
Squire  alone  seemed  to  retain  that  boisterous  spirit  of 
frolic  which  had  enliv^ened  the  winter,  but  for  want 
of  encouragement  displayed  very  little  of  it.  Every 
spirit  was  dulled,  and  life  seemed  to  have  mcit  with 
so  unpleasant  a  lull  that  a  storm  was  necessary  to 
rouse  the  people  who  floated  in  it  like  motes  in  a 
sunbeam. 

The    summer  passed    and   lengthened  into  fall. 

Florian's  run  for  Congress  set  the  house  in  a  fei'mcnt. 

It  was  a  great  thing  to  have  one  of  the  boarders 

148 


THE   INQUISITORS. 


149 


graduating  from  the  front  parlor  to  Congress,  and 
when  the  election  had  passed  and  he  was  returned 
by  a  handsome  majority  the  reception  tendered  him 
by  Madame  Lynch  was  superb.  All  the  world  was 
there,  and  in  some  way  it  began  to  be  understood 
that  Frances  was  the  lucky  woman  who  would  draw 
the  lion  of  the  day  in  the  matrimonial  lottery.  It 
was  on  the  evening  of  this  reception  that  two  gentle- 
men called  upon  Florian  while  he  was  engaged  among 
the  guests.  It  was  after  eleven,  and,  unless  the  mat- 
ter was  urgent,  the  great  man  could  not  be  seen  till 
after  midnight. 

"  "We  can  go  to  the  hotel,"  said  one  gentleman  to 
the  other,  "  and  rest  until  that  time.  You  will  please 
tell  Mr.  Wallace  that  a  gentleman  on  important  busi- 
ness will  call  upon  him  after  the  reception.  As  he  is 
compelled  to  leave  the  city  early  in  the  morning,  he 
must  see  him  during  the  course  of  the  night." 

They  went  away  without  further  trouble,  and  the 
servant  naturally  forgot  to  mention  their  visit  or 
message.  Coming  to  his  room  a  little  after  one, 
jaded  and  depressed,  deep  as  was  the  draught  of 
popularity  which  he  had  quaffed,  Florian  threw  him- 
self on  a  chair  and  gave  himself  up  to  aimless  thought. 
A  pier-glass  stood  directly  in  front  of  him,  and  he 
had  a  full  and  fair  view  of  the  new  Congressman — 
the  petted  idol  of  society,  the  present  form  of  the  seri- 
ous yet  light-hearted  boy  wlio  fished,  swam,  and 
loved  not  many  years  back  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  It 
was  a  delightful  but  not  a  satisfactory  feeUng  which 
his  new  honors  gave  him.  There  was  no  fullness 
about  the  heart,  no  complete  lull  of  that  bitter  crav- 
ing of  ambition  which  had  vexed  him  bo  long.    He 


<  'I 


iM 


150 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


1 1 


him 


could  hardly  realize  that  this  elegant  gentleman  with 
brown,  parted  beard,  and  pale  serious  face  was  really 
he  who  had  loved  Ruth  Pendleton. 

The  mirror  which  reflected  his  form  seemed  to 
center  all  its  light  on  him.  The  background  was 
very  dark,  and  yet  while  he  was  looking  a  shadowy 
face  seemed  to  grow  out  of  the  darkness  and  come 
nearer  to  him.  He  watched  and  studied  it  as  a  curi- 
ous phantom  of  the  brain,  until  a  cough  reached 
his  ears  and  notified  him  that  a  person  had  really 
entered  the  room.  The  first  look  at  the  stranger  led 
Florian  to  believe  that  he  was  dreaming,  for  the  man 
who  stood  gravely  there,  as  if  waiting  to  bo  wel- 
comed, was  the  living  image  of  Scott,  the  hermit  of 
the  Thousand  Islands,  when  last  he  had  seen  him  at 
Linda's  grave:  cap  worn  in  helmet-fashion,  blue 
shirt  and  high  boots,  and  the  red  beard  with  the 
sharp  blue  eyes  shining  above.  He  made  no  move- 
ment and  uttered  no  word,  but  stood  looking  at 
Florian  until  a  chill  crept  down  the  Congressman's 
shoulders. 

"  Scott,  is  this  you  ? "  he  said,  holding  out  his 
hand.     "  You  look  like  an  apparition." 

"  And  so  I  am,"  said  Scott,  taking  the  proffered 
hand  for  a  moment—"  a  ghost  of  the  past.  Could  I 
be  more  out  of  place  than  in  this  grand  house  ? " 

"  You  don't  look  so,"  said  Florian,  who  felt  that 
the  hermit's  simplicity  would  not  be  amiss  in  the 
homes  of  kings,  and  ho  held  tightly  to  his  hand 
and  shook  and  pressed  it  as  if  he  never  would  let 

"  This  is  the  hand  Linda  held,"  he  said  in  excuse 
for  his  rudeness.     "  You  have  overthrown  me  quite. 


i» 


I 


THE   INQUISITORS. 


151 


I  am  glad,  but  I  can't  feel  as  if  anything  new  had 
happened,  you  came  so  suddenly." 

The  hermit  went  around  examining  the  room  in 
his  simple  way,  stopped  at  the  picture  of  Linda  for 
a  moment,  for  r  longer  time  at  the  picture  of  Ruth. 

"  This  should  not  be  here,"  he  said,  "  if  I  know 
what's  what  in  this  city." 

"  True,"  said  Florian  :  "  but  it's  hard  to  do  right 
always." 

"  Kot  for  you,"  said  the  hermit,  and  suspicious 
Florian  felt  a  harshness  in  the  tone.  "  Not  for  one 
who  in  the  main  acts  squarely  is  it  hard.  Do  you 
think  so  ? " 

"  Some  things  are  so  much  harder  than  others," 
was  the  reply,  very  slowly  and  smilingly  given. 
"  But  this  is  a  cold  greeting,  Scott.  I  feel  the  honor 
you  have  done  me.  It  is  something  unusual  for  you 
to  do,  and  I  am  troubled  to  show  you  how  it  im- 
presses me." 

"  No  anxiety  on  my  account,"  said  Scott,  coming 
to  take  a  seat  in  front  of  him,  with  his  eyes  still 
studying  the  beauty  of  the  room.  "  I  must  be  off 
before  daylight.     And  so  you're  a  Congressman  ?  " 

"  High  up,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Florian,  blushing  like  a 
school  boy.  "  I  am  pretty  close  to  g;eat  things,  too 
close  to  make  much  fuss  if  I  should  get  them.  And 
you  remember  what  you  said  to  me  about  political 
life — that  it  would  be  my  damnation,  perhaps.  Ah  ! 
how  many  a  greater  man  must  live  to  eat  his  own 
prophecy." 

"  I  have  not  eaten  mine  yet,"  said  Scott,  "  and 
perhaps  I  hold  a  leetle  mite  stronger  to  that  opinion. 
Being  a  Congressman  at  thirty-one  isn't  so  great  a 


!^i 


162 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


show.  It's  ordinary  in  these  days,  and  it's  not  an 
evidence  of  piety  either  ;  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  no,"  and .  he  laughed.  "  But  then  I  have 
not  lost  tlie  faith.  I  am  the  same  old  Florian,  fond 
of  speculating,  of  fishing,  of  old  friends,  and  of  Scott 
the  hermit,  in  particular,  I  am  a  boy  yet,  and  I  re- 
semble St.  Paul  inasmuch  as  I  have  kept  the  faith. 
My  course  is  yet  to  be  finished." 

"  No  doubt  you  will  be  able  to  say  that  too,  some 
time,"  said  Scott,  and  Florian  thought  his  seriousness 
was  intended  to  mask  his  sarcasm. 

"  No  doubt,  Scott.  And  you  hint  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  say  no  more.  Pshaw !  I  went  to  confession 
and  Communion  last — last  spring,  and  I  never  miss 
Mass.  I  have  no  taint  of  liberalism.  I  object  to 
papal  infallibility,  and  that  is  not  yet  defined. 

"  And  do  you  object  to  mixed  marriages  ? " 

A  burning  flush  spread  over  Florian's  face. 

"  "Well,  I  am  firm  as  to  the  theory  if  not  as  to  the 
practice.  But  I  was  not  aware  that  many  knew  of 
this,  indeed." 

"  Squire  Pen'l'ton  knew  it.'' 

""Which  means  that  the  whole  world  is  in  the 
secret." 

"  It  was  a  big  fall  from  Clayburgh  notions,"  Scott 
said,  with  his  sharp  eyes  piercing  his  very  soul. 

"  I  was  only  a  boy  then  and  had  no  experience." 

"  If  you  were  mine  I  would  be  prouder  of  the  boy's 
actions  than  of  the  man's.  It  was  a  fair  and  square 
move  to  keep  clear  of  Protestant  wives  for  the  sake 
of  the  little  ones.  I  don't  think  you  improved  on 
it." 

"Perhaps  not  j  but  the  world,  I  find,  thinks  little 


i 


THE  INQUISITORS. 


158 


of  these  things.  I  shall  always  regret  my  Clay  burgh 
obstinacy  on  that  point."  He  looked  up  sadly  to 
the  picture  hanging  over  the  bookcase,  and  his  firm 
lips  trembled.  He  had  lost  it  forever,  and  no  one 
to  blamo  but  himself. 

"  I  shall  always  regret  it,  Scott — always.'' 

"  I've  no  doubt,"  the  hermit  said  shortly ;  "  an' 
you'll  lose  more  time  than  that  before  you  wind  up," 

"  See,  friend,"  said  Florian,  turning  with  playful 
sharpness  upon  him,  "  I  have  an  idea  you  came  here 
simply  to  haul  me  over  the  coals.  If  so,  proceed 
to  the  coals.  I'm  more  honored  than  before,  for 
a  man  must  think  much  of  another  to  travel  so  far 
for  his  sake  alone." 

The  hermit  drew  a  bit  of  newspaper  from  his 
pocket,  and,  after  smoothing  out  its  wrinkles  and 
creases,  handed  it  to  him.  "  P^re  Rougevin  gave  me 
that,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  an  extract  from  one  of  your 
stump  speeches.  I  think  he  doubted  it,  but  I'd  like 
to  hear  your  opinion  on  the  thing.  It's  something 
new." 

Florian  read  as  follows  :  "  Education  belongs 
properly  to  the  state,  and  any  attempt  to  rival  its 
systems  cannot  fail  to  be  hurtful  to  all.  After  some 
experience  in  the  matter  I  am  convinced  that  our 
public  school  system  is  as  fair  an  attempt  at  govern- 
mental education  as  can  be  attained  at  present.  All 
other  systems  should  be  frowned  upon.  Religion 
must  attend  to  its  churches  and  its  catechism,  and 
let  general  education  alone." 

"  It  is  mine,"  said  Florian  frigidly  and  briefly. 

Without  a  word  the  hermit  dropped  it  into  the 
wastebasket,  and,  arising,  he  began  aimlessly  to  read 


1  w  + 


III 


M   ■?< 


r  ' 


ilsH 


l:i 


i  h 


.ill 


154 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


the  titles  of  the  Avorks  in  the  library.  Decidedly 
Florian  was  not  feeling  as  pleasant  over  this  visit 
as  he  expected,  and  the  hermit's  allusion  to  mixed 
marria/^es  and  the  producing  of  the  extract  cut  him 
deeply.    "What  was  the  next  crime  ?  he  wondered. 

"  Them  titles  and  names,"  said  Scott,  "  don't  sound 
well.  Voltaire,  Strauss,  Heine,  Goethe,  Hobbes, 
Hume.  If  I'm  not  wrong,  them's  the  people  have 
done  as  much  harm  to  the  world  as  men  could  do." 

Florian  laughed  at  his  pronunciation  of  the  names 
for  Goethe  was  called  Goathe,  and  Voltaire  Voltary. 

"I  bought  them  out  of  curiosity,"  Florian  ex- 
plained. "  People  talked  of  them  and  their  authors 
until  I  felt  ashamed  of  knowing  nothing  more  about 
them  than  what  I  had  read.  They  did  not  impress 
me  much,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  No,  I  s'pose  not.  They  usually  don't,  such 
books."  He  was  turning  over  periodical  literature, 
and,  recognizing  among  them  some  of  the  worst 
sheets  of  the  day,  pointed  to  them  as  one  would  to 
a  rotten  carcass,  saying,  "  I've  heard  the  P6re  give 
his  opinion  of  them  things." 

"And  it  was  not  a  favorable  one,  I  feel  sure. 
"Well,  a  politician  must  see  and  read  things  in  order 
to  keep  abreast  of  the  times.  They  leave  no  impres- 
sion on  me,  save  regret  for  the  folly  and  the  crime 
which  produced  them." 

"  The  whole  place,"  said  Scott,  "  has  a  literary 
atmosphere.  I  should  think  you'd  want  to  keep  it 
pure.  You  were  brought  up  to  pure  air,  pure  think- 
ing, pure  doing.  But  this,"  with  a  comprehensive 
gesture  around,  "don't  look  anything  like  your 
bringing  up." 


THE   INQUISITORS. 


155 


Florian  was  gnawing  his  lip  with  vexation  by  this 
time,  for  the  hermit  ignored  his  arguments,  his 
attacks  and  defense  and  apology  entirely,  and  spoke 
as  if  in  a  soliloquy. 

"  Bringing  up  was  a  little  roughly  done  in  Clay- 
burgh,"  said  he  carelessly,  "  and  a  little  narrow- 
minded.  If  I  had  remained  there  I  would  have 
gone  on  ignorant  of  the  world  and  its  gi-eat  though 
erring  minds.  It  does  not  injure  a  man  to  know  of 
his  great  brethren,  even  if  they  be  fallen." 

"  Has  it  done  you  any  good  ?  "  asked  the  hermit, 
fixing  once  more  upon  him  the  gentle  eyes.  "  You 
say  you  read  'em  because  you  wanted  to  talk  about 
'em  with  people  who  had  them  on  their  lips  always. 
Well,  you've  done  your  talkin'  and  your  end  is 
reached.    Whar's  the  good  ? " 

"  I  have  learnt  something  from  their  errors  and 
from  their  story,  like  the  sailor  who  passes  the  scene 
of  a  comrade's  shipwreck.  You  will  never  find  me 
advocating  Eousseau's  civil-government  ideas  or  be- 
lieving in — but  I  beg  you  pardon  ;  I  had  forgotten 
that  you  were  unacquainted  with  these  things.  Dry 
enough,  aren't  they,  even  when  compared  with  dry 
politics !  But  here,  my  dear  friend,  this  is  not  what 
you  came  for  from  Clay  burgh.  You  have  some  news 
for  me,  have  you  not  ?  How's  the  fishing  in  Eel  Bay  ? 
And  how  do  people  comport  themselves  in  the  staid 
old  town  ? " 

"I  don't  know  much  about  'em,  but  I  believe 
they're  well.  Your  sister's  eldest  child  died,  you 
know  " — he  did  not,  but  thought  it  best  to  say  noth- 
ing— "  and  your  father,  as  yon  heard,  had  a  narrow 
escape  with  rheumatism  of  the  heart." 


J 


•'lit 


166 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


He  had  not  heard  that  either,  and  was  ashamed 
to  think  that  letters  from  liome  had  been  lying  un- 
opened and  forgotten  for  weeks  on  his  table. 

"  They  was  kind  of  expectin'  you'd  show  up  there 
soon.  They  don't  know  vour  vocation  is  so  well  set- 
tied,  and  they  thought  your  likin's  was  stronger." 

"Business  with  a  young  man,"  said  Florian,  "  is 
usually  too  pressing  to  admit  of  much  recreation." 

"  I  s'pose."  The  t(me  of  these  two  words  was 
delightful,  and,  although  they  stung  him,  Florian 
was  compelled  to  laugh. 

"  "When  you  return,  Scott,  you  can  tell  them  how 
well  1  am  looking  and  how  neatly  my  new  office  fits 
me.  Kext  year  I  shall  try  to  deliver  an  oration  at 
their  Fourth  of  July  turn  out.  And  to  this  you  can 
add  your  own  opinions  of  me." 

"  I  would  not  like  to,"  said  Scott,  shaking  his  head  ; 
"■  it  wouldn't  ])lease  your  friends  to  know  you  are 
as  you  are.  You've  changed,  boy,  for  the  worse. 
The  man  that  reads  such  books  and  thinks  as  you 
think — he's  on  the  wrong  road.  I  hope  for  Linda's 
sake  you  won't  reach  its  end.  That  little  grave  ought 
to  be  a  reproach  to  you.  I  have  a  paper  that  you 
writ  before  you  left,  and  I  brought  it  down,  thinkin' 
perhaps  you  might  care  to  read  it." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Florian  roughly ;  "  let  the 
buried  past  stay  in  its  grave." 

The  hermit  sitjhed  secretly,  and  before  either  could 
speak  again  a  knock  came  to  the  door,  and  Pdre 
Rougevin  entered  and  shook  hands  with  Florian 
warmly. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  in  your  new  honors,  Flory," 
with  the  gentle,  upward  wave  of  the  hand  that  the 


THE  INQUISITORS. 


1.: 


J( 


young  man  knew  so  well :  "  liope  they  will  wear  and 
stand  a  public  washing.  Scott  here  is  quite  sober- 
looking.  You've  been  recalling  old  reminiscences. 
What  a  fine  library  1  Standard  works,  too !  Um, 
um  !  Yoltaire — oh  1  Goethe — ah  1  Rousseau — there's 
the  politician  !  Your  reading  is  comprehensive, 
Flory,  shining,  like  the  sun,  on  the  good  and  bad 
indifferently !  There's  the  mind  of  your  true  modem 
statesman." 

"  See  the  difference  between  the  two  men,"  said 
Florian  smiling,  yet  quite  aware  of  the  Pore's  biting 
sarcasm.  "  Here  this  vicious  hermit  has  been  revil- 
ing me  for  reading  these  things." 

"Well,  Scott  has  old-fashioned  views,"  said  the 
P^re.  "He  hardly  understands  the  vigor  of  the 
faith  in  our  rising  Catholic  generation — how  easily 
these  assaults  of  Satan  are  beaten  back  by  their 
vigorous  arms,  and  how  quickly  these  snows  of  in- 
fidelity melt  from  them,  like  water  off  a  duck's  back, 
as  the  old  lady  said.  But  no  one  can  persuade  him. 
He  is  morbid  and  melancholy.  He  would  have  us 
all  hermits." 

Scott  rose  and  prepared  to  go. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  he  said,  with  a  look  at 
Florian,  more  direct  and  earnest  than  he  usually 
gave  to  any  one.     "  Good-bye." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Florian,  but  they  did  not  shake 
hands.  The  Pere  was  standing  with  his  eyes  on 
Ruth's  picture. 

"  That  should  not  be  there,"  he  said,  as  he  offered 
his  hand  for  the  parting  salute ;  "  but  the  old  love 
seems  to  die  hard." 

"  Shall  I  see  you  in  Washington  this  winter  ? " 


168 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


i-  i 


iil 


m  ■ 


said  Florian,  ignoring  these  remarks.  "  You  are 
always  talking  of  a  visit  there ;  surely  you  will  make 
it  now." 

**  It  is  likely,  thank  you,  unless" — and  he  looked 
at  him  shyly — "  you  begin  to  make  speeches  on  edu- 
cation." 

He  was  gone  the  next  instant,  and  the  Congress- 
man, weary  and  irritated,  returned  to  his  medita- 
tions in  disgust.  Tlieso  two  men  were  slowly  fading 
out  of  his  life,  and  it  was  hard  to  endure  in  silence 
their  rustic  sarcasms.  Even  if  their  charges  were 
true,  what  use  in  making  them  ?  He  would  not  go 
back  to  the  rusticity  of  Clayburgh. 

The  mention  of  Linda's  grave  had  stirred  him  and 
it  brought  back  her  dying  words  and  the  sweet  love 
she  had  for  him.  ''- 1  wonder,"  he  thought,  curiously 
as  he  fell  asleep— he  would  once  have  spurned  the 
thought  with  indignation — "  if  I  could  ever  forget 
that  last  scene  and  those  last  words.  O  Linda  !  I 
pray  with  all  my  heart  that  we  may  meet  again." 


I  i 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


MYSTERY. 


The  clouds  had  been  gathering  over  the  city  of 
"Washington  during  a  warm  December  afternoon, 
and  after  sunset  the  rain  began  to  fall,  lightly  at 
first  in  a  troublesome  drizzle,  and  later  in  a  heavy 
downpour.  The  municipal  almanac  had  announced 
a  full  moon,  and  although  the  threatening  of  the 
heavens  was  plain  enough  for  six  hours  before  dark- 
ness, the  officials  preferred  to  stand  by  the  almanac 
and  leave  pedestrians  and  thieves  to  stumble  and 
grow  profane  in  the  Egyptian  darkness.  A  private 
dwelling  on  one  street  had  the  lamp  lighted  before 
its  own  doors,  and  under  this  lami)  at  the  same  mo- 
ment two  dripping  gentlemen  stopped  for  the  purpose 
of  lighting  cigars.  The  Hon.  Florian  Wallace 
shivered  slightly  at  the  first  impression  of  the 
stranger's  face,  it  was  so  white,  so  dull,  so  cruel ;  the 
flickering  light  of  the  lamp,  and  the  red  glow  of  the 
match  gave  it  a  very  sinister  expression  besides. 
The  stranger  looked  at  him  slyly  but  strangely  for 
a  long  time,  as  if  studying  a  long  forgotten  scene 
and  trying  to  place  it  in  his  memory. 

In  fact,  Florian  grew  nervous  while  they  stood  in 

that  central  spot  of  light,  and  the  inquisitive  glances 

of  the  stranger  pained  him.    With  a  hasty  remark 

159 


■m 


160 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


about  the  weather,  he  plunged  into  the  darkness. 
He  had  walked  the  streets  on  such  nights  many  a 
time,  had  met  with  people  more  disgusting  than  the 
stranger,  had  faced  dangerous  characters  even,  and 
had  never  feared  as  he  had  to-night.  It  miglit  have 
been  the  strain  of  the  day's  labor.  He  was  ready  to 
laugh  at  himself  when  he  had  reached  his  hotel.  In 
its  warmth  and  brightness  he  felt  ashamed  oi  his 
feelings.  It  was  awkward  that  in  the  loneliness  of 
his  room  the  face  should  return  to  his  mind  like  the 
memory  of  a  portrait,  shaping  its  thin  lips,  sharp  eyes, 
yellow  beard,  and  coldness  against  a  darkness  of 
wind  and  rain.  The  rush  of  business  next  day  pre- 
vented him  from  dwelliiig  on  it  often,  and  until  he 
came  to  speak  on  some  bill  in  the  house  he  did  not 
once  recall  it.  He  was  in  the  middle  of  a  speech, 
when  he  stopped,  stammered  through  a  sentence, 
hesitated,  and  then,  with  aneifort,  resumed  his  speech 
and  finished.  The  cause  of  the  interruption  was  a 
glimpse  he  had  gotten  of  the  stranger  in  the  gallery 
surveying  him  with  an  opera  glass. 

However,  he  ceased  to  be  troublesome  within 
a  day  or  two,  and  when  Mrs.  Merrion  arrived  in 
town  and  sent  him  notice  of  her  firs  ball  the 
stranger  had  almost  faded  from  his  memory.  The 
ball  was  a  brilliant  affair.  Uniforms  of  embassies 
were  sprinkled  plentifully  through  the  throng, 
and  Mrs.  Merrion  gazed  upon  them  in  ecstatic 
delight. 

"  If  there  is  anything  I  do  like,"  said  she,  with  a 
giggle  to  Florian,  "  it  is  the  army,  navy,  and  em- 
bassy uniforms.  They  give  8\ich  an  air  to  a  room  ! 
By  the  way,"  she  added,  "  I  wish  you  to  make  the 


n. 


MYSTERY. 


161 


acquaintance  of  one  of  the  nicest  young  men  here 
to-night." 

They  proceeded  to  the  music-room  and  heard  a 
tenor  voice  rolling  off  some  foreign  syllables. 

"  That  is  he,"  said  Barbara  ;  "  he  is  a  Russian,  a 
count,  and  holds  first  rank  at  the  embassy.  He  is 
handsome,  witty,  good-humored,  talented,  and  his 
voice  speaks  for  itself." 

"When  they  entered  the  room  the  Russian  count 
was  leaving  the  piano. 

"  Count  Vladimir  Behrenski — the  Honorable  Flor- 
ian  Wallace." 

The  gentleman  bowed  low,  offered  his  hand,  and 
warmly  pressed  Florian's. 

"  Now  you  are  already  friends,"  said  Barbara, 
leaving  th^m,  "  and  you  shall  be  rivals  in  my  good 
graces." 

"  They  are  so  many,"  said  the  Count.  "  Mr. 
Wallace,  I  have  been  desiring  to  know  you  this  long 
time,  since  it  came  to  me  that  I  saw  in  you  a 
wonderful  resemblance  to  a  noble  Russian  family — 
a  family  of  royal  connections,  in  truth.  The  like- 
ness is  very  clear  and  very  exact." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  said  Florian.  "  It  would 
interest  the  noble  family,  I'm  sure,  to  know  an 
American  citizen  honored  them  by  personal  resem- 
blance." 

"  Your  resemblance  is  so  very  close  and  exact  to 
the  Prince  Louis  of  Cracow,"  the  Count  said  medi- 
tatively. "  If  there  were  Russians  here  acquainted 
would  ta 


with  him  they 
bis  hair  is  light. 


y 


55 


l( 


I  may  be  an  offshoot,  Count.     My  mother  came 


II 


162 


SOLITAHV    ISLAND. 


?if: 


;  I'  <     ■ 


i 


if  M'P 


i 


from  Ireland,  and  no  doubt  Russians  emigrated 
thither  some  time.  We  are  descended  from  princes, 
I  know." 

"  Yes,  the  Irish  ai'e  a  princely  race,  more  so  than 
others  Em'opeans — the  island  being  small,  I  think, 
and  the  word  prince  having  a  wide  a})piication. 
You  were  born  in  this  countrv,  sir?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  nursed  and  educated  into  "i'ankee 
notions." 

"  They  ai'e  \iiYy  elastic,  these  Yankee  notions," 
said  the  Count.  "  AYould  you  call  the  ])retty  hostess, 
Mrs.  Mcrri(jn,  a  Yankee  notion  I  " 

"  The  term  is  hardly  used  that  way,"  Florian  an- 
swered. "  J}ut  you  seem  to  think  Mrs.  Merrion  of  an 
elastic  disposition." 

"  She  is  a  line  woman,  delightful ;  but  it  is  hard  to 
understand  her.  AV^e  know  two  classes  of  women  in 
Europe — the  very  good,  and  the  very  bad.  It  is  easy 
to  tell  at  once  the  class.  Xot  so  with  your  Ameri- 
can  ladies.  Your  code  of  numners  is  elastic.  It  is  a 
Yankee  notion."' 

"  I'urely,""  said  Florian,  uneas}'  at  the  drift  of  the 
Count's  remarks.  "  It  Avould  hardly  suit  the  Russian 
clhnate." 

The  Count  shook  his  head  and  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"  Vet  it  is  very  amusing  at  lirst.  There  is  a  fine 
uncertainty  about  it,  and  it  sharpens  the  faculties 
wonderfully.  They  tell  me  you  are  one  of  the  rising 
men,  ^Er.  AVallaceT' 

"  Gradually  rising,"  laughed  Florian.  "  I  have  the 
AVhite  House  in  view." 

"  Four  years  of  powei* — just  a  mouthful.  Bah ! 
And  you  strive  for  years  like  giants  to  get  the  place. 


MYSTERY. 


163 


I  had  rather  be  a  count  over  a  little  village  than  such 
a  man.  If  you  were  offered  a  princeship  to-morrow 
and  the  presidency  at  the  same  moment,  which  to 
you  would  be  the  nearest  to  choose  ? "' 

"  That  which  is  perpetual,"  said  Florian  gravely, 
"  of  course.  But  we  never  have  perpetual  power  in 
this  country." 

"  I  know.  I  referred  to  other  countries.  Suppose 
you  were  heir  to  some  distant  nol)le  family  of  Ire- 
land?" 

"  An  earldom  would  satisfy  me,"  said  Florian. 

He  stopped,  his  face  whitened,  and  his  jaw  fell. 
At  the  window  near  which  they  stood  appeared  the 
cold  outlines  of  the  haunting  face,  its  cruelty  outlin- 
ing itself  so  sharply  and  sudd,.nly  on  the  pane  as  to 
overwhelm  him  with  terror.  lie  recovered  himself 
speedily,  but  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  said  the  Count,  with  much 
sympathy. 

"  Oh !  a  weakness  of  mine,"  said  Florian.  "  You 
will  excuse  me  for  a  time,  until  I  have  recovered 
myself." 

The  Count  bowed,  and  Florian  went  silently  out 
into  the  garden  and  strode  along  the  walk,  hot  from 
anger.  It  was  plain  the  face  w\is  haunting  him,  and 
for  a  purpose.  He  could  not  explain  it,  but  he  was 
determined  to  put  an  end  to  it,  a  determination 
which  came  to  nothing  for  he  never  saw  the  face  of 
the  stranger  again.  Clayburgh  did,  however,  and 
had  a  quietly  exciting  time  over  it.  One  late  train 
from  New  York  made  the  railway  station  a  })leasant 
place  each  evening  for  the  public  personages  of  the 
village.     Squire  Pendleton  and  Mr.  \7allace,  whom 


'  Is 


iii 


t  ii 


! !  I 


i  :•! 


164 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


his  neighbors  knew  and  respected  as  Billy,  were 
prominent  at  these  receptions.  Visitors  found  the 
welcoming  stare  of  the  villagers  rather  trying,  and 
often  slipped  away  under  cover  of  the  darkness  from 
the  rear  platform  of  the  last  car.  On  a  certain  night 
in  April  the  only  passenger  on  the  train  played  this 
disgusting  trick  on  the  reception  committee,  which 
went  home  in  a  profane  mood,  leaving  Billy  "Wallace 
to  watch  for  him  a  half  hour,  and  to  report  progress 
the  next  evening. 

Biliy  began  to  parade  the  platform  in  deep  medi- 
tation. The  lamp  with  its  strong  reflection  was  shin- 
ing at  the  door,  and  he  passed  and  repassed  the  line 
of  light,  stopping  at  times  to  blink  at  the  curious 
scientific  phenomenon  of  a  thing  you  could  not  look 
at  steadily.  Out  on  the  vater  a  few  patches  of  twi- 
light were  still  burning  like  expiring  lamps,  and  a 
few  forms  walked  and  talked  in  the  gathering  dark- 
ness, while  trainmen  and  officials  rolled  in  the  freight 
and  hurled  bad  language  at  the  bad  boys.  It  was 
after  a  few  turns  up  and  down  the  platform  that 
Billy  became  aware  of  a  gentleman's  presence  a  few 
feet  distant,  whose  outline  impressed  him  with  a 
sense  of  strangeness.  His  face  could  not  be  seen, 
and  he  was  idly  leaning  against  the  building.  With 
customary  boldness  Billy  walked  up  to  him,  bade 
him  good  evening,  made  remarks  on  the  weather, 
asked  if  he  was  a  stranger  in  town,  how  long  he  was 
going  to  stay,  and  could  he  be  of  any  use  to  him ; 
to  some  of  which  the  stranger  did  not  reply,  and  at 
the  rest  merely  grunted — grunted  so  impolitely  that 
only  personal  considerations  prevented  Billy  from 
knocking  him  down.      He   resumed   his   walking, 


MYSTERY. 


165 


noticed  that  the  gentleman  was  observing  him 
closely,  turned  abruptly,  and  went  home.  He  was 
half-way  up  the  street  when  it  occurred  to  him  that 
this  might  be  the  traveler  who  had  eluded  them  by 
stepping  off  at  the  rear  end  of  the  train ;  as  he  had 
walked  up  the  hill  in  the  heat  of  indignation,  so  he 
rushed  back  again  in  the  heat  of  curiosity,  and  came 
upon  the  stranger  standing  unconcernedly  under  a 
lamp-post,  looking  around  him.  lie  turned  his  gaze 
( 'x  Billy.  It  may  have  been  the  unexpectedness  of 
mt,  )ting  him  that  puzzled  the  old  gentleman's  facul- 
ties, for  he  stopped  in  confusion,  gasped  out  "  The 
divil!"  faintly,  and  fled  with  the  idea  that  the 
stranger  was  in  pursuit. 

Mrs.  Winifred,  sitting  calmly  in  the  back  parlor 
sewing,  and  weaving  in  a  tear  with  an  occasional 
stitch  as  she  tliought  of  the  (^ay  voices  that  made  the 
night  pleasant  3''eai^  ago,  heard  the  door  open  and 
shut  violently,  and  saw  Billy,  as  in  a  vision,  appear 
and  throw  himself  in  a  chair  exhausted,  with  the 
sweat  on  his  brow  and  Jiis  face  wrinkleless  from 
terror.  Nothing  alarming  in  his  appearance  ever 
provoked  alarm  in  ^[rs.  Winifred,  and  she  continued 
her  sewing  without  comment  or  question. 

Behind  her,  but  some  distance  to  her  left,  was  a 
window  looking  out  into  the  garden,  and  opposite 
to  the  Avindowhunga  mirror  so  placed  that,  without 
seeing  herself  in  it,  Mrs.  Winifred  could  see  the 
window,  whose  curtain  was  only  half  down.  In  one 
casual  glance  at  the  mirror  she  saw  outlined  against 
the  darkness  behind  the  window  a  white,  peculiar 
face.  She  dro})})ed  her  eyes  immediately  on  her 
work,  in  fear  that  her  senses  were  misleading  her ; 


sw 


in 


'I  i 


I'l:;  I 


II 


'^  M 


i ' 


j  ■: 

i 


166 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


and  when  slie  was  certain  of  tlie  place,  the  hour,  the 
work  in  her  liancls,  and  the  very  stitclies,  she  looked 
again.  There  was  the  face  still,  ugly,  pale,  and  cruel 
— the  very  face  that  had  so  disturbed  Florian  dur- 
ing the  winter  in  Washington.  She  could  see  noth- 
ing else.  A  feeling  of  horror  i)eg;in  to  creep  over 
her,  a  nervous  dread  that  the  tei-rible  sight  would 
direct  its  glances  to  her  ;  but  she  was  so  fascinated, 
and  terrified,  and  doubtful  of  herself,  that  she  did  not 
venture  to  move,  only  sat  there  staring  and  fearing 
and  waiting  like  a  criminal  until  it  disappeared. 

It  became  known  the  next  day  that  a  foreign 
gentleman  was  stopping  at  the  Fisherman's  Retreat ; 
and  this  was  the  first  piece  of  information  which  was 
hurled  at  Billy  when  he  made  his  appearance  next 
morning  to  institute  inqa  .  ■  js  as  to  the  stranger  with 
the  mysterious  countenan  e.  lie  could  speak  but 
very  little  English,  seemed  .0  be  a  sort  of  Dutchman, 
and  impressed  tlie  people  very  favorably.  He  made 
himself  acquainted,  by  sight  at  least,  with  all  the 
villagers,  and  was  more  talked  about  than  if  he  were 
the  president.  One  day  he  would  s])end  his  time 
wandering  about  the  docks,  watching  the  boats  or 
the  stormy  waves  ;  another  he  would  be  seen  in  this 
or  that  quarter  staring,  simj)ly  staring. 

Pore  Ttougevin,  reading  his  weekly  FrecniantiiiQT 
dinner,  was  moved  to  look  out  of  the  window  by  a 
passing  shadow,  and  saw  the  stranger's  face  the  very 
first  moment,  thinking  it  very  disagreeable.  The 
stranger  was  looking  at  the  church — a  plain,  homely 
affair  not  worth  inspection — but  it  pleased  him  so 
much  that  he  came  in  to  ask  by  signs  for  permission 
to  enter.     The  P(^re  spoke  to  him  in  French,  German 


MYSTEUV. 


107 


and  English,  but  he  shook  his  head,  mutterinu-  very 
raw  syihibles. 

"You  are  a  Russian,''  said  the  priest;  juid  the 
man  made  a  dul)ious  gesture  Avhicli  was  translated 
as  an  affirmative  by  the  light  that  si)rcad  into  his 
Swolid,  unpleasant  face.  The  priest  Avent  out  Avith 
him,  and  he  looked  over  the  cliurch  solemnly,  ex- 
amining some  parts  curiously,  and  with  a  bow  witli- 
drew  when  he  was  satislied,  with  m:my  signs  of 
gratitude. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  look  to  our  valuables 
while  he  is  in  town,"  said  the  priest  to  his  servant ; 
"  he  would  not  hesitate  to  murder  us,  I  fear,  for  it 
is  seldom  one  sees  so  uglv  a  countenance." 

Coming  down  the  road  one  fair  morning  in  time 
to  meet  the  train,  Squire  Pendleton's  ponderous 
glances  rested  sorrowfully  on  the  marble  shaft  which 
bore  Linda's  name,  and  then  brightened  a  little  at 
sight  of  a  stranger  examining  the  monument  and  the 
grave.  Who  could  this  be?  The  Squire  had  heard 
of  the  new-comer  and  the  mvsterv  that  surrounded 
him,  and  this  he  felt  to  be  the  man.  lie  came  down 
the  road  as  the  Squire  i)assed,  and  gave  that  gentle- 
man an  opportunity  to  put  on  his  most  awe-inspiring, 
Mackenzie's  rebellion  look,  and  to  roll  forth  a  sonor- 
ous good-morning,  to  which  no  answer  was  given, 
nor  did  the  great  personage  seem  to  inspire  the 
stranger  with  any  respect. 

"I  said  good-morning,  sir,"  he  repeated  Avith  re- 
strained force ;  and  the  stranger,  beginning  to  com- 
prehend the  drift  of  his  remarks,  boAved  and  smiled 
but  said  nothing. 

"  Foreigner,  I  suppose,"  thought  the  Squire,  with 


«RI 


168 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


1    '^! 

1 

f 

^fll 

HI    t 

fir;  :i 

iJ  1 

id 

i  ;l   S 

^p: 


i 


contempt.  "  Lucky  for  you  that  you  recognized 
my  greeting,  or  it  would  have  been  all  the  worse 
for  us  two.  I  saw  you  surveying  that  pretty  monu- 
ment on  the  hill,"  continued  he.  "  Nice  stone, 
beats  Italian  marble  all  to  smash  ;  wears  well  for  the 
climate.  After  next  election  we  don't  import  any 
more  stone — oh !  no.  Cut  and  carved  by  home  talent. 
In  a  century  or  so  we  shall  discount  your  sculptors 
fifty  per  cent.  AYe've  got  the  money  and  the  brains, 
but  we  need  time — time." 

This  was  what  the  Squire  called  tall  talk,  and  was 
bestowed  only  on  foreigners  who  looked  like  sneer- 
ers  at  republicanism.  But  the  stranger  grunted 
something  like  "  pshaw  "  in  answer  to  the  tall  talk. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Squire  most  villainously,  "  do  I 
understand  you  to  say  '  pshaw '  to  my  remarks  ?  " 

The  gentleman  bowed  and  smiled  in  so  doubtful 
a  way  that  Pendleton  knew  not  how  to  take  it,  but 
concluded  that  his  intentions  were  not  insulting.  At 
this  interesting  crisis  the  whistle  of  the  approach- 
ing train  brought  Pendleton  to  his  senses,  and  he  fled 
for  the  depot  with  all  speed,  more  eager  to  be  at  his 
post  than  to  quarrel  with  a  mere  foreigner.  Interest 
in  the  supposed  Kussian  became  so  deep  as  to  reach 
the  hermit  of  Solitary  Island.  Squire  Pendleton 
caught  Scott  on  the  dock  one  day,  on  the  point  of 
returning  to  his  solitude.  The  usual  group  of  loi- 
terers was  close  by,  among  them  the  stranger  and 
the  priest. 

""We  have  a  curiosity  here,"  the  Squire  said  to 
Scott,  "  a  real  Kussian  that  has  done  more  in  one 
week  to  upset  this  town  than  any  other  man  could  do 
in  a  year.    I  won't  say  why,  for  I'm  anxious  to  see  if 


MYSTERY. 


169 


he  strikes  you  as  he  strikes  most  people.  He's  a 
Kussian,  didn't  you  say,  Pere  Tiougevin  ? " 

"  I  supposed  so,"  said  the  Pere,  "  from  his  looks 
and  his  language." 

"  He's  pretty  far  out  of  his  way,  then,"  the  her- 
mit said,  pulling  down  his  cap  in  readiness  to  start. 

"  Wait  and  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  the  Squire  ; 
"  here  he  is." 

The  stranger  appeared  at  this  moment  and  stood, 
in  profile  to  the  group,  unconscious  that  the  hermit's 
sharp  eyes  were  upon  him.  Pendleton  watched  for 
the  changes  he  expected  to  see  in  Scott's  face,  but 
he  was  disappointed. 

"  Hard-lookin'  sinner,"  Scott  said,  as  he  swung 
the  canoe  around  and  paddled  off. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


A  BARBECUE. 


8!! 
■    i 


t  - 


All  the  letters  wliicli  rear^hed  Florian  from  his 
native  town  during  tlio  summer  nearly  brought  him 
to  despair  by  their  tei'rilic  descriptions  of  the  mys- 
terious stranger.  One  day  there  arrived  a  note, 
posted  in  a  place  unknown,  warning  him  to  be  on 
his  guard  against  the  man,  for  he  meant  him  evil. 
It  was  plain  that  this  individual  was  making  himself 
familiar  with  Florian's  affairs.  A  man  does  not 
meddle  without  an  object.  Florian  felt  himself  in 
possible  danger.  His  first  impulse  was  to  put  the 
matter  in  a  detective's  hands,  but  after  rellLction  he 
decided  to  take  another  course.  Recalling  that  he 
had  once  seen  Count  Vladimir  and  the  stranger  in 
conversation,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  opened 
himself  to  the  Count  with  unnecessary  frankness, 
and  had  told  him  enough  about  his  t)ast  life  to  make 
the  work  of  a  si)y  trivial  and  successful.  Vladimir 
and  he  had  become  very  good  friends,  and  the  young 
nobleman  had  come  to  Xew  York  for  the  sole  pur- 
])ose  of  seeing  political  life  under  the  guidance  of 
his  distinguished  friend.  It  was  not  difficult  to 
acquire  an  affection  for  the  young  fellow,  and 
Florian  deeply  admired  him.  He  was  handsome, 
open-hearted,  and  engaging,  and  sinned  with   such 

thoughtlessness  and  relish  that  the  grave  Congress- 

170 


P 
m 

m 


A    BAltlJKCUE. 


171 


man  often  wished  his  own  disposition  liad  as  little 
malice.  In  the  presence  of  so  attractive  a  scamp  his 
own  correct  notions  looked  a  little  odd  and  silly, 
and  he  occasionally  dro[)ped  a  few  of  them  in  order 
to  seem  of  a  similar  nature  to  this  butterfi}-.  How- 
ever, to  be  thoroughly  deceived  hy  this  boy,  to  have 
all  his  life  drawn  from  him  that  it  might  furnish 
matter  for  a  spy's  recreation,  was  gaUiugl  He  did 
not  allow  it  to  disturb  him,  however,  and  when  he 
visited  the  Count  showed  no  feeling  in  mentioning 
the  incident  of  the  mysterious  stranger. 

"  My  dear  Count,''  said  he,  "  I  have  no  objection 
whatever  to  an  inquiry  into  my  past  life,  but  if  lam 
to  furnish  the  material  I  have  a  right  to  know  the 
object.  What  possible  interest  can  you  have  in  fer- 
reting out  an  open  record  ?  My  life  f  i-om  birth  has 
not  been  remarkable  and  has  no  mystei'ies.  I  could 
have  saved  you  some  troul)le  if  you  liad  come  tome 
in  the  beginning  and  stated  the  matter  candidly." 

The  Count  had  just  risen  from  sleep  and  looked 
pale  and  heavy.  "  The  work  I  had  to  do,"  said  he, 
"  required  secrecy  for  two  reasons :  that  it  might  be 
more  deftly  done,  and  might  awaken  no  unreason 
able  hopes  in  the  bosoms  of  American  citizens  whose 
birthrigiit  of  freedom  they  would  not  exchange  for 
an  earldom." 

"  That,"  said  Florian,  "  is  tolerated  on  the  Fourth 
of  July  only.'' 

"  "Well,  be  it  known,  my  friend,  that  T  am  commis- 
sioned by  the  Prince  Louis  of  Cracow,  father  of 
that  Prince  Louis  to  whom  you  bear  so  remarkable 
a  resemblance,  to  search  f(jr  two  or  more  of  his  rel- 
atives who  came  to  this  country  just  thirty  years  ago. 


172 


SOLITAUY    ISLAND. 


I 


,;if 


I 


5   t^ 


It  is  whispered  that  the  good  prince,  wliose  char- 
acter is  not  of  the  best,  was  under  the  necessity  of 
doing  some  dirty  work  years  ago  that  he  might  get 
into  his  present  lordly  position.  He  trumped  up  a 
charge  against  a  young  and  nobh;  relative  ;  said 
relative  lied  with  two  children  to  this  countrv;  the 
prince  entered  upon  his  relative's  possessions,  and 
the  story  ended.  Now,  in  his  old  age.  Prince 
Louis  fears  for  his  wealth  and  standing.  He  be- 
gins to  look  for  a  Nemesis.  To  escape  it  he  com- 
missions me  to  iind  the  exiled  prince  or  his  children, 
and  settle  with  them  for  a  respectable  sum  to 
remain  here  and  leave  him  in  the  enjoyment  of 
his  estates.  Ho  gave  me  some  portraits  to  help 
the  search.  You  so  closely  resembled  one  of  them 
that  1  took  you  for  a  possible  heir  and  began  to  in- 
quire into  your  antecedents.  I  shall  now  show  you 
the  portraits.  First,  do  you  hold  me  absolved  from 
any  crime  against  your  fame  and  honor  ? " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Florian.  "  You  have  pro- 
ceeded admirably,  but  you  are  on  a  wrong  scent, 
my  friend,  though  I  must  say  I  regret  it." 

"  And  why,  if  I  may  ask  ? " 

"  I  would  like  to  barter  for  the  mess  of  pottage 
with  Prince  Louis  ;  money  is  more  to  me  now  than 
a  princeship  or  a  kingship." 

"  Money,  money,  money  !  It  is  the  one  cry  that 
makes  itself  distinctly  heard  amid  the  jargon  I  have 
endured  since  I  came  to  this  country," 

"The  portraits,  the  portraits,"  said  Florian  im- 
patiently. Yladimir  brought  them  out  from  an 
inner  room  and  placed  them  for  his  inspection.  The 
faces  were  done  in  oil  and  well  executed.     The  first 


A    BARBECUE. 


178 


was  a  young  man  with  redcli.sh  hair  and  smootii,  del- 
icate face,  of  too  fine  a  nature  evidently  to  cope  with 
the  gross  wickedness  of  the  niatoi'i;d  villain,  his  rela- 
tive ;  and  the  second  a  lovelv  woman  of  dark  com- 
plexion,  whose  sweet  face  was  indicative  of  great 
strength  of  character. 

"  I  should  fancy  this  woman  woukl  not  take  very 
well  to  flight,"  he  said  after  a  pause.  "  She  would 
hold  her  castle  to  the  end." 

"  So  she  did,  and  died,"  the  Count  responded. 
"  There  are  more  ways  than  one  of  bringing  an 
enemy  to  terms." 

Two  children  of  lovely  appearance  took  up  the 
third  case,  and  Florian  laughed  at  the  idea  of  these 
being  taken  for  himself  and  dead  Linda.  There 
was  no  resemblance,  except  that  the  eyes  of  the  boy 
were  of  a  brown  color  and  the  dark  eyes  of  the  girl 
sparkled  with  some  of  Linda's  mischicvousness.  But 
between  himself  and  the  exiled  prince  there  cer- 
tainly was  a  very  striking  resemblance,  and  it  ex- 
tended in  a  lighter  degree  to  the  portrait  of  the 
princess.  The  Count  watched  him  closely  as  he  ex- 
amined the  pictures,  to  see  what  impression  they 
made  on  him  ;  but  Florian  felt  only  disappointment. 

"Has  your  Russian  friend  reported  to  you  yet?" 
he  asked.  "  For  I  suppose  I  have  some  right  to 
know." 

"  He  has,"  the  Count  answered  frankly  ;  "  but  he 
had  nothing  more  to  say  than  that  you  did  not 
resemble  your  father  or  mother,  and  had  not  been 
baptized  in  Clayburgh." 

"  True,  and  I  could  not  say  where  I  really  was 
baptized.    But  if  you  wish  it  we  shall  go  together 


■:i* 


174 


80LITAUY   ISLAND. 


V  ■■ 


Iffil  t) 


is: 


to  Clayburgh  and  mterview  my  parents  and  friends. 
It  is  a  queer  tinie  of  day  to  bring  up  questions  of 
my  paternity.  We  shall  have  to  ])r()ceed  cautiously 
for  two  reasons.  My  motluM"  is  nervous  and  my 
father  hot-tempered,  and  inquiries  among  the  towns- 
people, if  too  open,  might  act  unpleasantly  on  my 
good  name." 

"  Oh !  I  assure  you  the  whole  matter  will  i)e  con- 
ducted most  honorably  and  delicately.  Allow  me 
to  thank  you  for  3'our  kind  offer.  I  accept  '^  once, 
and  having  done  with  you  I  shall  proce^^d  to  perse- 
cute some  other  individual.  But  I  have  your  pardon, 
Florian,  for  my  want  of  candor  ?  I  was  so  fearful 
of " 

"  Not  a  word.  I  only  wish  you  had  succeeded  in 
proving  me  a  j)rince.  It  would  have  been  a  great 
help  in  my  political  life.  Let  me  advise  you.  Get 
rid  Tyf  vour  troublesome  friend,  and  do  not  use  him 
as  a — an  agent.     His  face  is  against  him." 

"  He  is  a  hel})ful  fellow  and  a  good  fellow.  But 
his  face  is  against  him,  although  I  do  not  pay  at- 
tention to  it  now.  He  disturbed  you,  it  seems.  He 
impressed  you  as " 

"An  assassin,"  said  Florian,  with  an  ortburst  of 
long  restrained  disgust  and  horror. 

"  All!"  was  all  the  Count  said,  and  Florian  could 
not  tell  why  the  simple  exclamation  set  him  wonder- 
ing as  he  went  away. 

The  train  which  one  summer  evening  rusiied  into 
Clayburgh  depot  had  Florian  and  the  Count  in  one  of 
its  coaches.  When  the  old  familiar  landmar':s  which 
he  had  known  and  loved  as  a  boy  b^gan  to  appear, 
and  when  for  the  first  time  in  eight  years  he  saw 


A  nAuniccuE. 


175 


the  strip  of  l)jiy  ovoi'  whicli  h<'  had  sailed  so  often, 
and  sniffed  the  fresh  w.iter  hreeze,  lily-scented,  a 
scale  seemed  to  fall  from  his  eyes  and  a  shell  from 
his  body.  They  h'ft  the  hustle  of  the  depot  behind 
them,  and,  on  reaching  the  top  of  the  short  hill, 
Florian  made  the  Count  look  at  the  twih'^lit  beauty 
of  the  scrm>.  Miu'imir  was  not  un  admirer  of 
scenei'v,  but  he  looked  and  saw  the  »vaters  covered 
with  long,  shifting  lights  from  the  west  where  a 
faint  red  glow  shone,  ajid  thetlistant  islands,  visibli 
only  by  the  lights  of  dwellings  there.  A  feeble 
moon  threw  silver  flashes  where  the  darkness  was 
deepest.  The  liiu'  of  docks  was  a  forest  of  masts 
with  their  red  and  green  and  white  lights  showing 
like  stars  against  the  sky,  and  over  the  hubbub  of 
the  travelers  at  the  depot  could  l)e  heard  occasion- 
allv  the  singers  in  the  boats  far  out  on  the  calm 
river. 

"  The  stillness  is  (piite  oppressive,"  said  the  Count 
with  a  shiver,  as  they  turned  into  the  garden  of 
Wallace's  home. 

"  It  is  a  place  t.>  niake  you  think,"  said  Florian, 
pointedly. 

"Heaven  savi  me  from  that,*"  laughed  the  Count. 
"  It  is  the  ono  gl*>ry  of  my  life,  and  its  joy,  that  of 
all  men  I  can  thiidx"  least." 

Florian  entered  the  house  without  anv  ado,  and 
left  his  valise  in  thes(|uare  room  which  once  belonged 
to  him.  To  the  .servant  who  came  to  inspect  the 
intruders  he  gave  the  message  for  his  mother  that 
Florian  had  come  home.  The  Count  w  .-,  a  trifle 
curious  as  he  heard  the  hurried,  timorous  stc])  in  the 
hall,  and  he  watched  ^Mrs.  Winif'ad  closely  as  she 


176 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


it- 


appeared,  dressed  in  plain  black,  with  her  white 
pointed  cap  lying  across  her  smooth  hair.  She  was 
in  an  exceedingly  nervous  state  and  hardly  noticed 
Vladimir's  title,  calling  him  Mr,  Countbrensld  a 
moment  after  the  introduction.  Preparing  two 
rooms  for  the  gentlemen,  and  seeing  them  retire  to 
brush  off  the  dust  of  the  journey,  gave  her  an  op- 
portunity to  settle  down  into  her  usual  placiditj'^, 
which  she  did  in  Linda's  room,  where  she  sat  crying 
and  murmuring  to  the  darkness,  "  O  Linda  !  he  has 
come  back  again."  The  Count  was  so  delighted  at 
not  finding  in  Florian  the  faintest  resemblance  to 
his  mother  that  he  grew  eager  to  begin  work  at 
once. 

"  I  have  still  less  resemblance  to  my  father,"  said 
Florian.  "  But  it  would  not  do  to  scare  my  mother 
by  broachin,^  so  abruptly  an  important  matter. 
The  idea  of  trying  to  prove  her  son  the  property  of 
another  woman!  Your  object  would  certainly  be 
frustrated  by  such  haste.  You  would  get  no  infor- 
mation at  all." 

As  Vladimir  had  asked  the  favor  of  being  made 
acquainted  with  all  the  circumstances  of  Florian's 
birth  as  soon  as  possible,  the  examination  was  held 
the  next  morning  after  breakfast.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Buck  were  present,  and,  with  Mr.  Billy  Wallace, 
were  informed  of  the  reasons  of  the  visit.  Billy  Avas 
highly  amused,  and  Sara  felt  the  inspiriting  charm 
of  acting  a  part  in  a  real  romance.  The  Count  saw 
in  the  manner  of  each  member  of  the  family  that 
fate  was  against  him.  Father  and  mother  might 
have  shown  a  little  agitation,  and  so  have  given  a 
hope  that   their   astonishment    was  but  assumed. 


A    BARBECUE. 


177 


b 


Billy,  however,  chuckled  constantly,  and  Mrs.  Wini- 
fred was  as  placid  as  usual. 

"  Seemingly,"  said  she,  with  great  composure, 
"  we  lived  behind  Russell's  Camp  for  a  number  of 
years." 

"  We  might  have  been  there  yet  but  for  your 
tinkering."  Billy  snapped,  with  a  sudden  and  vivid 
recollection  of  damages  sustained  in  leaving  the 
camp. 

"  Thank  Heaven  we  are  out  of  it,  the  horrid  place  I  " 
.idid  Sara.  "  I  would  never  have  met  Mr.  Buck  there 
nor  anybody ;  and  where  would  you  be  now,  my 
blessed  little  Florian  ?/' 

"  The  Protestant  brat !  "  barked  the  grandfather, 
patting  the  child's  head  with  secret  tenderness. 

"  It  was  there  Florian  came  to  us,  and  Sara,  and 
Linda,  and  one  younger  child  who  died  before  we 
left  the  place.  Seemingly,  none  of  the  children  were 
baptized  in  a  church." 

"  How  could  they  be  ?  "  Billy  jerked  out.  ''  There 
wasn't  a  church  in  fifty  miles." 

"  How  terril)le  !  "  said  Sara  for  the  Count's  benefit, 
"  to  be  deprived  of  the  consolations  of  religion " 

One  withering  look  from  Billy  ended  this  speech, 
and,  in  fear  of  an  outbreak,  Mrs.  Winifred  ])urst  in 
with,  "  Pere  Rivet  baptized  our  children  and  took 
the  records  with  him  to  Arontr(>al,  I  suppose.  I 
couldn't  say  where.  But  seemingly,  it  troubled  me. 
For  if  Plorian  had  wished  to  be  a  priest  we  had  no 
certificate  of  baptism." 

"  Not  much  trouble  to  you  now,"  sneered  Billy ; 
"  he's  a  Congressman,  the  divil ! — the  very  opposite 
of  a  priest.     And  your  grandson,  with  a  certificate 

13 


178 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


m 


''i' 


hand} ,  is  to  be  a  minister.  Think  of  that,  Count — 
think  of  that,  sir." 

"  We  moved  here,"  said  Mrs.  Winifred  patiently, 
"  when  Floriun  was  about  five  years  old,  and  here 
we  have  lived  since." 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ? "  said  Florian,  and  the  Count 
nodded  in  some  hesitation. 

"  I  must  apologize  to  yon,"  iio  said,  addressing  the 
family,  "  for  the  trouble  I  have  given  you " 

"  Oh !  I  assure  you,"  Sara  broke  in,  '*  it  has  been 
a  very  great  pleasure.     Just  like  a  novel,  indeed." 

"  I  must  thank  you  for  the  kind  manner  in  which 
you  have  humored  me.  I  am  satisfied,"  laughing 
gayly,  "  that  your  son  is  your  own.  I  shall  never 
again  trouble  you  in  this  way." 

"  But  in  other  ways,"  said  Sara,  "  we  shall  be  so 
hap]>y  to  serve  you.  Some  troubles  are  real  pleas- 
ures." 

•'  Not  such  troubles  as  you,  you  divil !  "  said  J  illy. 

"  But  such  troubles  as  this,"  she  answered  good- 
naturedly,  holding  young  Florian  close  to  the  wrin- 
kled face ;  and  the  grandfather  was  forced  to  smile 
and  chuckle  in  sjute  of  himself.  The  morning  con- 
fei'cnce  was  broken  up  by  the  stentoria"  ^'oice  of  the 
Squire  at  the  front  gate  welcoming  Florian  to  the 
arms  ol'  his  native  town.  At  his  back  were  a  half- 
dozen  of  the  fathers  of  the  village?,  anxious  and  hap])y 
to  greet  the  lion  of  the  fohl,  the  standard-bearer  of 
Juda,  their  David  in  the  ranks  of  the  I'hilistines. 
Vladimir  shuddered  at  the  grasj)  which  each  of  the 
ancients  in  turn  gave  to  Florian  and  kept  two  books 
in  his  hands  during  the  ceremony  of  introduc- 
tion. 


A    BARBECUE. 


179 


"  Glad  to  see  you,  Count,"  said  the  Squire.  "  You 
are  a  rare  bird  in  this  part  of  the  country,  but  I  met 
a  dozen  of  you  in  New  York  when  I  was  there. 
Boys,  this  is  a  real,  live  Russian  count,  imported  from 
Moscow,  and  Florian's  friend.  He's  to  be  included 
in  the  reception  we're  to  give  I'lory  at  noon.  You'll 
make  a  speech,  of  course." 

The  ver}'^  decided  refusal  of  the  Count  was  drowned 
in  the  clamor  which  all  present  raised  in  behalf  of 
the  speech. 

"  The  ladies  of  the  whole  town  will  be  present," 
said  Sara,  "  and  it  would  be  too  bad  to  denv  them 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  a  count  talk." 

"  Is  not  this  a  republican  country  { "  said  Vladi- 
mir. 

"Oh  I  but  you  are  a  rarity,"  Florian  replied,  "and 
must  be  heard  as  well  as  seen.  You  are  on  exhibi- 
tion like  myself." 

"  It  is  the  one  thing  of  this  country — self-exhibi- 
tion," the  Count  mutt'Tinl  in  a  disiiustod  undertone, 
but  aloud  he  said  blandly,  ''If  the  ladies  wish  it  I 
am  their  slave." 

"  How  delightful !  "  thought  Sara.  "  lie  talks  just 
like  an  earl." 

Mrs.  Winifred  had  been  sitting  quietly  ol>servant 
of  the  proceedings,  and  now  tunil)lod  into  her  son's 
lap  in  a  dead  faint ;  whereu})on  the  elders  gathered 
about  her  in  a  close-i)ressed  gang,  and  the  Count, 
having  been  caught  between  them  with  his  ])rotect- 
ing  books  in  his  hands,  got  such  a  democratic  squeez- 
ing as  he  had  never  before  experienced. 

""ThisneviH'  hap|vned  b(>for('  in  her  whol*}  life," 
sai<l  Billy,  with  tremulous  li[)s,  as  she  l)egan  to  show 


180 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


it 


jii 


signs  of  returning  life.  Florian  whispered  to  the 
Count,  who  followed  him  into  the  garden. 

"  It's  a  good  time  to  get  away,"  he  said.  "  That 
deputation  would  keep  us  till  noon,  when  I  wish  you 
to  see  the  islands  and  a  hermit  friend  of  mine." 

Thev  went  down  the  street  to  the  dock  below  the 
depot,  and  in  a  few  minutes  Florian  had  hired  a  boat 
and  hoisted  the  sail  to  a  favorable  bi-eeze.  A  few 
loungers  stood  on  the  shore  and  watched  curiously 
the  ordinary  human  motions  of  so  ([ueor  creatures  as 
a  politician  and  a  count.  They  soon  left  the  river 
and  entered  the  curved  channel  wliich  passed  into 
the  Bay  of  Tears.  And  like  a  transfoi-mation  scene 
the  narrow  passage,  in  whicii  the  waters  mingled 
their  murmurs  with  the  sigliing  of  tiie  trees,  widened 
on  the  instant  into  a  glorious  bay  where  the  waters 
slept  in  the  sunlight  and  a  silver-white  mist  lingered 
in  the  air.     Even  the  indifferent  Count  was  touched. 

"  Your  hermit  has  a  royal  dwelling,"  said  he, 
"  when  such  a  vestibule  leads  to  it." 

"We  shall  see,"  Florian  r«'pli«Ml.  A  short  run  up 
the  Canadian  side  of  the  river  bron;;ht  them  to  the 
landing-})luce.  "  This  is  the  royal  residenct',"  said  he 
to  the  Count  as  they  anciiort  <1.  To  the  ilisappoint- 
ment  of  both,  tiie  hermit  was  ncjtathome,  but  every- 
thing was  in  its  ohl  ]»hu'e,  (iven  the  copy  of  haak 
Walton  ;  and  Florian  saw  with  delight  the  absence 
of  change,  as  if  he  had  been  gone  but  a  <lay ! 

"This  is  the  nearest  approach  to  «'ternity  that 
man  can  make.  There  has  been  no  change  here  in 
twenty  years,  and  I  suppose  the  furniture  of  his 
brain  and  his  heart  are  in  the  same  placid  condition. 
Such  a  man  endures  death  with  philosophy." 


A   BARBECUE. 


181 


"  Nonsense  ! "  the  Count  said,  "  on  the  contrary, 
he  is  always  unprepared  for  so  violent  a  change. 
"With  me,  a  worldling,  death  is  one  of  those  incidents 
which  make  life  charming.  There  is  a  risk  in  hold- 
ing life's  jewel.  Now,  this  hermit,  as  I  suppose,  is 
wildly  virtuous,  an  ascetic " 

"  No,  no.  lie  is  sedate,  stoical,  serious,  but  not  a 
devotee." 

"  Then  he  has  taken  to  this  life  from  a  love  of  it, 
and  not  because  a  companion  was  struck  dead  by 
lightning  at  his  side  or  because  he  had  already  ex- 
hausted the  world  ? " 

"  I  would  like  to  heiir  himself  answer  those  insinua- 
tions. It  would  take  all  your  cynicism  and  wit  to 
match  him.  Above  all  men  he  despises  an  indif- 
ferentist." 

"What  do  you  call  this  ? "  said  the  Count,  holding 
up  a  delicate  handkerchief  between  his  thumb  and 
finger.  "  Was  it  not  one  such  that  damned  poor 
Desdemona  i " 

"  As  I  live,"  replied  Florian,  examining  the 
article, "  my  hermit  has  strange  visitors  occasion- 
ally." 

There  were  no  nuirks  by  which  its  owner  might 
be  known,  but  the  keen  eyes  of  the  Count  detected 
the  letter"  W  "  which  had  been  worked  with  colored 
silk  at  one  corner,  and  the  coh^r  had  faded. 

"  An  initial  belonging  to  you,'' said  he,  pointing- 
it  out.  Florian  looked  at  it  thoughtfully  for  a  few 
moments. 

"  It  is  just  possible,"  he  said,  pressing  the  hand- 
kerchief to  his  lips,  "  that  this  is  a  relic  of  Linda — 
poor  Linda !     If  so  it  would  be  a  pity  to  deprive  him 


m 


f: 


W 
m 


mm 


182 


SOLlTAItY    ISLAND. 


S 


i  '. 


M 


ii 


h 


of  what  must  be  dear  to  hiin.  lie  thou<j:ht  so  much 
of  the  child." 

He  put  it  between  the  leaves  of  haid-  Waltofi 
reverently. 

"  Now  for  the  reception,"  he  said,  as  they  set  sail 
for  the  town. 

A  crowd  had  gathered  on  one  of  the  wharves,  and 
a  band  was  playing  under  the  shadow  of  innumer- 
able flags  and  banners,  while  cheering,  shouts,  and 
yells  were  faintly  borne  over  the  water.  A  carriage 
was  in  waiting  and  they  took  the  last  place  in  a 
procession  of  which  the  band  had  the  first,  and  did 
it  justice.  The  ride  was  short.  They  were  trans- 
ferred to  a  hotel  balcony,  which  gave  them  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  their  admirers  in  an  agony  of 
exhaustion,  sitting  on  the  curbstones  of  the  street, 
on  barrels  and  boxes  and  staircases,  and  loaning  out 
of  windows  in  heart-breaking  attitudes,  while  the 
sun  beat  down  on  them,  and  the  band  blared  about 
and  through  them,  dividing  with  the  Count  the 
attention  of  the  multitude.  Evervone  was  red,  and 
every  one  had  a  handlcerchief  with  which  he  mopped 
and  reddened  the  more  his  pers])iring  face.  Only 
one  cool,  shaded  spot  stood  in  view,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street,  where  under  a  protecting  canopy 
sat  the  well  dressed  leading  ladies  of  the  town, 
headed  by  Eeverend  INFrs.  Buck,  and  leveling  opera- 
glasses  at  the  titled  victim  of  one  part  of  this  ova- 
tion. 

When  the  brass  band  had  wound  up  its  disturbance 
with  one  prolonged  crash  of  powerful  melody  the 
Squire  stepped  forward  amid  cheers.  With  his  back 
to  Florian  and  his  face  to  the  crowd  be  welcomed  to 


.ill. 


A    BAUBEOUE. 


183 


his  native  town  this  admirjihle  specimen  of  the  po- 
litical youtii  of  tile  time,  con<^riituhite'l  liim  on  the 
eminence  he  had  won  in  the  service  of  his  country, 
prophesied  his  future  <^l()ries  and  tiie  <,dories  he  wouUi 
reflect  on  ('iayburf,di,  jind  pli'(l<^(>(l  to  him  the  eter- 
nal, the  undying,  the  immortal,  solid,  uninterrupted 
fidelitv  and  esteem  of  the  eiti/cns  of  tlu;  town. 
Amid  a  second  round  of  cheering  Florian  took  his 
place  and  endeavored  to  out-jidjective  the  S<|uire 
in  one  of  his  most  telliiv^  spread-eagle  speeches. 
There  was  some  mixed  speaking  afterwards  on  the 
part  of  noteworthy  eldei's  anxious  to  put  their 
opinions  on  record,  to  whom  the  crowd  paid  no 
attention,  but,  with  many  wishes  that  the  dinner 
might  not  interfere  with  their  talking  powers,  and 
with  considerable  hiughiiig  scattei'cd  homewards, 
while  the  tired  and  heated  Count  was  led  into  the 
dining-room  and  placed  at  his  seat  amid  a  hui)bub 
too  hori'ible  for  descri])tion. 

These  hot,  rod-faced,  perspiring  Yankees  were  still 
full  of  spirits  and  appetite.  It  was  di'eadful  to  see 
wluit  hungry  looks  they  cast  at  the  dishes,  as  if  the 
noise  and  confusion  of  the  procession  and  the  speech- 
making  were  incentives  to  appetite.  Knives,  tongues, 
and  dishes  chittered  in  utiison ;  waiters  ran  hither 
and  thither,  in  and  out,  tripped  and  sprawled,  as  if 
their  reputations  depended  on  the  al.isurdities  they 
were  performing ;  the  elders  u})set  gravy-l)owls  and 
vinegar  cruets  with  social  e(pianimity ;  everything 
was  put  on  the  table  at  once;  everybody  shouted 
his  thoughts  to  his  neighbor  ;  steam  rose  from  every 
dish  like  a  cloud,  and  around  each  man's  plate  was 
grouped  an  army  of  smaller  dishes,  to  which  his 


■J- 


184 


SOLITARY    iSLAND. 


m 


■  t;  ■ 


\'\h 


neighbor  helped  himself  with  genial  freedom  !  In 
the  center  sat  the  Honorable  Florian,  the  cause  of 
all  the  trouble,  calm,  cool,  and  elegant,  full  of  good 
spirits,  his  pleasant  voice  rising  above  the  din  and 
roaring  encouragement  at  his  friend,  until  the  band 
broke  loose  and  sat  upon  all  rivalry  with  a  complete- 
ness that  made  the  Count  feel  as  if  he  were  eating 
that  awe-inspiring  music. 

"  Down  south  the}'^  call  this  a  barbecue,"  the  Squire 
shouted  at  him  across  the  table,  where  he  struggled 
with  a  roast  standing ;  "  this  is,  of  course,  a  leetle 
milder." 

"  Oh !  considerably  milder,"  said  an  ancient,  "  con- 
siderably, Squire." 

"  Ya'as,"  drawled  another.  "  I  suppose  it's  only  a 
shadow  of  a  real  barbecue.  The  Southerners  air  apt 
to  dew  thing's  with  a  rush,  bein'  a  leetle  fiery." 

"  That's  where  you'd  see  fun,"  the  Squire  continued. 
"  But  still  this  is  a  pretty  good  specimen  of  a  high 
old  time.     Of  course  with " 

A  burst  from  the  band  crushed  the  words  back 
into  his  mouth.  The  Squire  continued  to  roar,  and 
the  Count  nodded  politely  \vhile  pretending  not  to 
see  his  neighbor  carry  off  his  green  peas.  The  gentle- 
man had  said  :  "  Seein'  as  you  don't  take  to  them  'ear, 
jm  try  'em." 

After  a  time  Vladimir  passed  into  a  dreamy  state 
in  which  he  seemed  to  be  the  center  of  a  revolving 
machine.  lie  rather  liked  it  on  the  whole,  and  as  the 
motion  grew  slower  and  slower  he  began  to  realize 
that  the  table  was  cleared,  the  Yankees  satisfied,  and 
Florian  was  speaking  in  the  midst  of  a  great  and 
pleasant  silence.    Some  comic  singing  followed,  thoro 


i 


A    BARBECUE. 


185 


was  a  general  handshaking,  of  which  he  had  a  share, 
and  finally  he  was  conducted  to  the  quiet  of  the 
"Wallace  home. 

"  How  did  you  like  it  ? "  said  Florian,  when  they 
liad  changed  their  clothing  and  sat  looking  at  the 
sun  shedding  his  latest  glories  on  the  river. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  through  a  campaign.  If 
my  greatest  enemy  had  done  this  his  revenge  could 
not  have  been  more  complete.  AVe  have  been  here 
but  twenty -four  hours.  I  feel  as  if  it  had  been  as 
many  years." 

"  We  go  to-morrow,"  said  Florian  with  a  sigh.  "  I 
would  like  it  to  last  forever." 

"  Since  it  can't,"  answered  the  Count  solemnly, 
"amen." 


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1,'ii 


CHAPTER  XVT. 


KOSSlTKlt  S    LrOK. 


A  COOLNESS  arose  between  Florian  and  the  poet 
after  Ruth's  departure.  Without  any  clear  reason 
for  it,  the  two  men  avoided  each  otlier,  and  drifted 
utterly  apart  by  degrees.  Ruth's  face  began  to 
haunt  the  poet  once  more ;  some  words  from  gos- 
sipers  on  her  conversion  had  waked  from  a  tran- 
sient sleep  a  fancy  he  had  thought  dead  and  buried. 
He  did  not  care  to  indulge  the  fancy,  ])artly  from 
pride,  mostly  because  tlje  world  was  not  treating 
him  well  at  that  moment.  Work  was  scarce,  and 
money  scarcer.  Fatigue  and  worry  had  told  upon 
him,  and  just  then  occurred  something  which  put 
a  finishing  tou  ih  to  his  misery.  Returning  from  a 
tiresome  interview  with  a  manager  he  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  look  at  a  shop  window,  and  became  con- 
scious of  some  one  staring  at  him  rudely  from  within. 
He  looked  up.  The  same  disagreeable  face  which 
had  haunted  Washington  and  Clayburgh  so  unpleas- 
antly had  fastened  its  intent,  evil  gaze  on  him.  Al- 
though he  went  on  his  way  cheerfully  afterwards, 
he  did  not  know  what  a  power  this  face  had  of  repro- 
ducing itself  in  the  memory,  until  it  had  remorselessl}'' 
haunted  him  twenty-four  hours.  It  came  up  at  every 
turn  of  thought,  luminous  and  frightful. 

"  I  wonder  what  it  means  ? "  he  said  to  Peter  one 

186 


rossiter's  luck. 


187 


evening.  Poter  had  been  speaking  with  an  energy 
born  of  liquor,  and  had  brought  down  his  fist  several 
times  on  the  table  after  asserting  that  something  was 
diabolical.  "  "What  does  it  mean  ? "  cried  he.  "  It 
means  that  you're  no  man,  or  ye  wouldn't  sit  there 
and  see  him  walk  off  with  Frances  before  yer  two 
eyes,  you  omadhaun !  " 

"  "Who  ? "  said  the  poet  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

"  That  gizzard,  v>f  course,"  snarled  Peter. 

"  On  that  track  again,  hey  ?  Pshaw,  Peter !  I 
don't  care  for  Frances,  nor  she  for  me.  We  couldn  t 
live  on  the  same  floor  without  quarreling." 

"  Before  marriage,   perhaps,"   said   Peter,    "  but 

after "    A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  him, 

and  he  opened  it  to  admit  the  servant  bearing  a  card 
for  Ml".  Rossiter. 

"  Read  it,"  said  Paul. 

Peter  took  up  the  card  and  read : 

" '  Mr.  "Wallace's  compliments  to  Mr.  Rossiter. 
"Would  he  favor  Mr.  Wallace  bv  comin"-  to  his  room 
to  meet  the  Count  Vladimir  Behrer^iki,  a  noted  litter- 
ateur, anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance  ? '  "What 
new  trick  is  this  ? " 

"  Pm  going  down,"  said  Paul,  and  he  went. 

The  resemblance  between  Paul  and  Florian  has 
been  spoken  of,  and  it  was  a  notable  circumstance 
with  their  acquaintances.  At  the  first  sight  the 
more  delicate  physique  and  lighter  complexion  of  the 
poet  did  not  make  the  likeness  striking  or  impressive, 
but  on  acquaintance  it  increased  forcibly,  and  the  in- 
variable question  was,  are  they  brothers  or  relatives  ? 
When  Florian  saw  for  the  first  time  the  features  of  his 
supposed  father,  the  Prince,  in  the  portraits,  he  was 


:■ 


f 


■  -I . 


i'  • 


1^ 


188 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Struck  by  the  remarkable  likeness  to  Paul  Rossiter. 
Of  this  fact  he  said  nothing  to  the  Count  until  that 
gentleman  had  been  satisfied  as  to  his  identity  with 
the  son  of  ^Mr.  and  Airs.  Wallace.  When  thev  had 
returned  to  New  York,  and  he  was  one  day  at  the 
Count's  residence,  he  asked  to  see  the  portrait  of  the 
Russian  prince  once  more.  "  There  is  a  young  gentle- 
man at  Madame  Lynch's"  he  said,  "  who  looks  more 
like  this  picture  than  I  do.  He  has  the  prince's  eyes 
and  hair,  which  I  have  not." 

"  But  you  have  the  soul  of  the  prince  in  your  face," 
said  the  Count  shrewdly,  "  which  he  has  not." 

"  Then  you  know  of  his  existence  ?  "  said  Florian. 

"  I  heard  of  it  yesterday,"  the  Count  replied,  in- 
differently, "  and  I  was  about  to  ask  for  an  intro- 
duction.  I  have  a  presentiment  that  the  son  of  the 
exiled  prince  will  be  found  in  either  of  you." 

"  What !  have  you  not  gotten  over  your  infatuation 
in  my  regard  ?  Were  you  not  satisfied  with  the 
Wallace  credentials  ? " 

"  Highly  satisfied.  But  I  spoke  only  of  presenti- 
ment." 

"  When  I  first  saw  this  portrait,"  said  Florian,  "  I 
said  to  myself,  this  is  the  poet — for  he  is  a  poet,  you 
know.  But  I  thought  it  best  to  settle  my  own 
claims  first,  as  I  had  a  secret  hope  that  I  might  be 
the  princely  child  you  sought." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Count,  "  you  are  eager  for  assassi- 
nation." 

"  Pshaw  ! "  said  Florian,  "  wouldn't  the  Prince  of 
Cracow  prefer  buying  me  off  than  running  the  risk 
of  having  a  crime  laid  to  his  charge  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  Vladunir ;  "  but  he  had  an  idea  you 


rossiter's  luck. 


189 


» 


you 


could  not  be  bought.     You  Americans  have  such  a 
greed  for  titles." 

"  For  our  own,"'  said  Florian,  "  not  for  yours.  I 
would  sell  my  princeship  for  a  reasonable  sum,  and 
buy  a  governorship  here,  which  would  be  more  to 
me  than  anything  in  a  European  kingdom.  Will 
you  call  on  the  poet  ?  And  if  so,  what  will  be  your 
l)lan  of  action  ?  " 

"  I  shall  call  on  him  and  franklv  state  the  reason 
of  the  visit." 

And  it  so  happened  that  Paul  received  Florian''=i 
card  the  same  evening  and  was  introduced  to  I. 
Count.    After  some  desultory  conversation  Vladimir 
broached  the  subject  of  his  visit  and  showed  the 
portraits  to  Paul. 

"  It  is  a  very  good  picture  of  me,"  said  the  poet 
coolly,  "  but  it  can  be  no  more  than  an  accidental 
resemblance." 

"  Would  you  have  any  objections,"  the  Count 
politely  asked,  "  to  give  me  means  of  satisfying  my 
eraployer  by  documentary  evidence  that  you  are  not 
the  man  he  seeks  ? " 

"  I  have  been  through  the  mill,"  said  Florian, 
"  and  I  can  do  the  Count  the  justice  of  saying  that 
his  conduct  has  been  that  of  a  gentleman.  For  him 
your  word  is  sufficient,  but  the  Prince  Louis  must 
have  something  more." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Paul  gravely,  "  that  the 
Prince  as  well  as  the  Count  must  be  content  withm}' 
simple  word.  There  is  nothing  in  my  history  that 
justifies  the  slightest  shope  that  I  can  be  the  man. 
The  past  I  prefer  to  leave  undisturbed.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  cannot  oblige  you." 


i  1     S-    - 

•'■Ml 


It;  ij' 


l-'!l 


190 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


i!^ 


It! 


There  was  some  agitation  in  bis  manner,  but  his 
determination  was  evident  and  the  Count  could  only 
express  bis  regrets.  Florian  did  not  dare  to  bint  in 
Vladimir's  presence  that  a  score  of  detectives  would 
probably  be  soon  at  work  to  lay  bare  the  story  of 
his  life,  and  the  conversation  drifted  into  other 
channels  until  the  poet  took  his  leave.  While  his 
footsteps  echoed  in  the  hall  there  was  a  short 
silence. 

"  Kossiter's  conduct,"  said  Florian,  "  strengthens 
your  case  considerably." 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  Count  answered  dubiously. 
"  It  may  one  way  and  it  may  not  another.  He  is 
sincere,  and  yet  apprehends  trouble  from  discovering 
himself.     It  does  not  m&ttev— for  the presenV 

He  w^ent  out  reciting  his  favorite  maxim  of  human 
philosophy  with  a  smiling  face  and  gay  air.  At 
home,  the  gentleman  whose  peculiar  features  had  al- 
ready caused  so  much  disturbance  in  many  places  was 
waiting  for  him,  and  began  to  speak  in  a  low,  sullen, 
dull  way  before  greeting  him.  The  conversation 
was  in  Eussian. 

"  Have  you  found  out  something  new  about  this 
young  man  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Vladimir ;  "  he  is  what  he  is  and 
no  more." 

"  He  is  the  son  of  Prince  Paul,"  said  the  other 
angrily ;  "  no  one  can  deceive  me.  His  name  is 
Paul,  is  it  not  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  be  is  not  the  man  I  think.  You  were 
so  certain  about  Wallace  ;  why  have  you  changed  ? " 

"  Give  me  his  native  place.  We  are  delaying  too 
much.     Give  mo  his  native  place,  and  I  will  do  it 


ROSSITER  S   LUCK. 


101 


ere 


all  in  a  dav.  Give  me  whatever  vou  have  found  out 
about  him  and  hasten." 

The  Count  silently  and  contemptuously  lit  a  cigar 
and  sat  down  comfortably  under  a  most  malignant 
glare  from  the  man's  eyes. 

"  My  tlear  Kicholas,"  he  said  blandly,  "  you  are 
too  quick  and  too  impertinent.  I  found  out  nothing 
concerning  this  princeling,  save  that  he  had  nothing 
to  tell.  You  will  have  to  begin  from  the  begin- 
ning " — Nicholas  made  a  gesture  of  despair — "  but 
you  are  sharp,  you  are  unwearied,  you  are  devoted, 
and  you  will  find  it  all  soon  enough." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ? "  said  Nicholas. 

"  I  think  nothing,  it  lies  between  these  two." 

"  Then  this  Paul  is  the  man,"  he  interrupted.  "  I 
\ir  '■  the  father — I  knew  them  all,  father  and  son. 
Thex'e  is  a  quick  way  to  settle  this  matter."  And 
he  made  a  murderous  gesture  with  his  arm. 

"  Too  fast,"  the  Count  replied,  shaking  his  head  ; 
''  that  trick  is  too  new  in  this  country  to  be  played 
safely,  although  if  any  one  could  do  it  cunningly  you 
are  that  one.  No,  Nicholas,  you  must  be  more  cr.re- 
ful  of  your  master's  character.  He  relies  on  you 
chiefly.  There  must  be  no  blood  cast  on  his  honor- 
able name." 

"  There  are  ways  of  killing  without  shedding 
blood,"  said  Nicholas — "  without  steel  or  rope — if  I 
might  try." 

The  Count  pretended  not  to  hear  him  and  went 
off  into  an  inner  room,  while  with  an  evil  smile  the 
man  departed  to  execute  his  mission.  It  might  have 
been  a  result  of  tjifis  conversation  that  matters  began 
to  get  worse  witjj  Tlossiter.     lie  seemed  to  have  dis- 


\ 

\  1 


r  F 


:i;. 


192 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


covered  all  at  once  a  knack  of  offending  his  few 
patrons,  and  in  spite  of  Peter's  efforts  and  his  own, 
it  became  more  and  more  difficult  to  earn  the  pittance 
that  supported  him.  His  strength  and  spirit  were 
leaving  him  together.  Hack-work  was  a  treadmill 
to  his  soul,  and  when  at  last  employers  began  to 
sprinkle  theii'  stingy  crusts  with  ashes  as  they  handed 
them  out,  he  stayed  at  home,  and  dreamed  for  hours 
of  the  two  faces  that  haunted  him,  the  calm  face  of 
Ruth,  and  the  cruel  visage  of  the  spy. 

Peters  anxieties  and  mutterings  drew  madame's 
attention  to  the  matter.  She  took  a  kindly  interest 
in  the  lonely  poet,  was  happy  to  be  of  service  to 
him,  and  called  on  him  to  assure  him  of  her  sym- 
pathy and  to  promise  her  influence  in  getting  him 
a  position  ;  and  Frances  came  up  often  with  Peter 
and  was  very  witty  and  quarrelsome  to  raise  his 
spirits.  From  these  kindly  visits  Peter  evolved  a 
bright  syllogism  whose  conclusion  struck  him  with 
the  force  of  a  tornado.  Madame  and  her  daughter 
were  about  to  take  advantage  of  Paul's  weakness 
and  arrange  the  long-deferred  marriage  of  the  young 
people.  Paul's  noble  sacrifices  in  behalf  of  the  poor, 
his  patient  endurance  of  misfortune,  his  piety  and 
beauty,  had  at  length  become  irresistible  in  the 
girl's  heart.  Kow  was  the  time  to  strike  a  telling 
blow  in  favor  of  his  pet  project.  He  waited  a  few 
days  until  madame  had  made  herself  conspicuous  in 
Paul's  interest,  until  Frances  had  ministered  his  sad 
soul  into  cheerfulness,  and  then  Peter's  diplomacy 
began  to  move  about  like  the  bull  in  the  china  shop. 
He  hurried  one  day  into  madame's  presence,  and 
burst  out  with — 


ROSSITER  S   LUCK. 


193 


a 
th 


in 
sad 
acy 
lop. 
and 


"  He's  dying,  that  b'y  is  dying  an'  ye  have  only 
yourselves  to  blame  for  it." 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Rossiter?"  said  madame  ter- 
ribly frightened. 

"  Don't  get  excited,  ma'am.  There's  no  immedi- 
ate harm  done,  but  between  ve,  vo  are  killin'  the 
b'y." 

"  Oh !  "  said  madame,  "  one  of  your  freaks,  1 
suppose." 

"A  woman  of  your  years  an'  experience,"  said 
Peter,  looking  at  her  with  uneasy  glances,  "  ought 
to  be  better  able  to  get  at  the  bottom  o'  things  than 
ye  are,  instead  o'  leaving  such  work  to  be  done  by 
your  boarders.  There's  no  use  breaking  your  neck 
running  over  the  city  to  find  out  the  cause  o'  Paul's 
illness,  when  it's  here  in  the  house,  as  large  as  a 
young  lady  can  be." 

Madame  sat  provokingly  quiet  awaiting  the  point 
of  his  eloquence. 

"Can't  you  see  that  he's  in  love  with  your 
daughter  ? "  said  Peter  angrily. 

"  No,"  said  madame  composedly  ;  "  is  he  ?  " 

"  Nothing  less  than  marrying  her  will  cure  him  ; 
an'  it's  a  shame  to  have  her  waiting  for  the  good 
pleasure  of  the  man  without  a  heart,  with  a  real  live 
poet  wasting  away  in  a  garret  because  of  her.  He'd 
write  beautiful  verses  for  her  all  her  life,  while  from 
the  Congressman  divil  a  thing  else  she'll  hear  but 
dry  speeches  an'  the  like." 

"  Did  Mr.  Rossiter  tell  you  he  was  in  love  with 
Frances,  and  commission  you  to  plead  his  cause  for 
him?" 

"  Ay,  that  he  did,  ma'am ;  for  no  one  ever  stood 
»3 


i 


I'''' 


■  -I 


^h  J  i 


194 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


his  friend  as  well  as  Peter.  When  he  was  feeling 
bad  over  his  own  weakness  who  else  woidd  he  choose  ? 
'  Never  mind,'  says  I,  *  i  11  let  out  the  cause  of  it;' 
an'  he  thanked  me  with  two  tears  in  his  eyes.  If 
there's  a  heart  in  ye  at  all  ye'll  see  that  he's  rescued 
from  the  grave  by  giving  him  Frances.  She's  crazy 
after  him,  the  poor  girl." 

"  Have  you  spoken  of  this  to  others  'i "  said  Ma- 
dame icily. 

"  No;  I  think  not.     I  might  have,  but " 

"  If  you  ever  do,"  said  Madame,  "  it  will  be  your 
ruin.  My  interest  in  Mr.  Rossiter  ceases  from  this 
instant,  and  he  must  depart  at  once  from  this  house. 
Such  an  insult  to  my  daughter — such  a  poor,  un- 
gentlemanly  return  for  all  my  kindness.  It  is  shame- 
ful." 
Peter  walked  out  stupid  from  humiliation. 
The  effects  of  his  interference  were  direful.  Ma- 
dame and  her  daughter  ceased  to  visit  the  attic,  and 
Paul  received  the  intimation  that  as  soon  as  con- 
venient the  attic  would  be  let  to  a  more  desirable 
lodger.  There  was,  of  course,  an  instant  demand 
for  explanation.  Paul,  looking  wofully  pale  and 
wretched,  came  down  from  his  room  and  begged  to 
know  if  this  was  of  a  piece  with  his  other  misfor- 
tunes. Madame  explained  in  a  distant  way,  which 
set  Paul  laughing  as  he  pictured  to  himself  the  man- 
ner in  which  Peter  must  have  executed  his  self- 
imposed  task.  He  declared  earnestly  that  he  had 
never  spoken  of  such  a  thing  even  in  jest,  and  had 
no  deeper  regard  for  Frances  than  he  had  for  her- 
self. It  pained  him  to  see  that  while  Madame  ac- 
cepted his  declaration,  she  did  not  withdraw  her 


ROSSITER  S   LUCK. 


196 


note  nor  drop  tlie  unusual  coldness  of  her  manner, 
while  his  request  to  apologize  to  Frances  was  politely 
ignored. 

He  returned  to  his  room,  weighed  down  with  sad- 
ness, but  outwardly  cheerful.  One  must  carry  his 
cross  with  a  good  heart.  His  possessions  were  few 
and  his  wardrobe  limited.  He  packed  up  a  few 
articles  that  evening,  locked  the  door,  and  ga\c  the 
key  to  the  servent,  with  instructions  to  have  the 
furniture  sold  and  the  inoncv  <2:iven  to  Madame.  Ho 
had  tried  vainly  to  see  Peter.  On  a  chilly,  but  clear 
night  in  early  spring,  he  went  out  into  the  streets  of 
New  York  almost  a  beggar,  as  he  had  once  entered 
the  city,  having  no  place  to  lay  his  head,  entirely 
bereft  of  friends  save  among  the  poor,  s;id  and  down- 
cast, but  still  full  of  the  hope  which  had  always 
been  his  chief  capital.  He  had  enough  money  to 
assist  him  in  carrying  out  his  designs.  He  needed 
change  of  scene  and  rest,  and  he  had  decided  that  a 
few  months  spent  in  the  country  districts,  traveling, 
as  only  the  impecunious  know  how  to  travel,  out  in 
the  open  air,  among  the  mountains  and  lakes  of  the 
north,  would  once  more  set  him  in  trim  for  the  bat- 
tle of  life.  He  was  not  altogether  cast  down,  and 
had  no  suicidal  tendencies,  nor  even  a  very  natural 
longing  for  death.  There  were  many  pleasant  in- 
cidents ahead  of  him  which,  with  the  bracing  air  of 
night,  gave  his  blood  a  new  energy  of  flow. 

He  took  a  northward  train,  and  near  morning 
was  landed  at  a  pretty  village  half-way  up  the  Hud- 
son. It  was  not  a  pleasant  hour  for  entering  a 
town,  the  air  being  chilly  and  the  sun  still  in  bed 
along  with  the  villagers.    Officials  were  sleepy  and 


h>h 


196 


SOLITARY    ISLAM). 


impolite,  and  tlie  silent,  echoinji^  streets,  the  ghostly 
spires  and  eminences,  had  a  heavy  influence  on  a 
heavy  heart.  The  bells  of  a  distant  convent  were 
ringing,  and,  smiting  softly  on  his  ear,  brought  a 
flush  to  his  pale  cheeks.  He  turni.'d  his  steps  towards 
the  sound.  His  thoughts  went  back  to  that  happier 
time  when  Ruth's  face  had  first  stirred  in  him  as- 
pirations and  fancies.  It  had  been  many  months 
since  she  stood  in  the  world.  She  was  hiding  in  the 
convent  whose  bells  brought  the  blood  to  his  cheek 
and  quickened  his  unconscious  step.  What  she  was 
doing  there  he  had  never  heard ;  why  he  was  visit- 
ing the  place  he  had  not  asked  himself,  but  a  vague 
longing  to  see  her  again  and  to  learn  something 
definite  of  one  who  had  unconsciously  filled  a  large 
space  in  his  life  urged  him  on.  lie  knew  that 
she  thought  of  him  Avitli  gratitude.  He  had  been 
the  first  to  open  her  eyes  to  her  real  position,  and 
she  felt  that  whatever  of  happmess  her  new  life 
had  given  her  was  owing  in  fair  measure  to  him. 
After  Mass  he  called  upon  the  Superior  of  the  con- 
vent. 

"  Some  years  ago,"  he  said,  "  a  lady  friend  of 
mine  came  here  to  reside.  She  was  a  Miss  Pendle- 
ton, a  Protestant,  who  had  leanii.Q..  towards  the 
faith,  I  have  heard  so  little  of  her  since  that  time 
that  I  am  anxious  to  know  what  has  become  of 
her." 

"  Miss  Pendleton,"  said  the  mother  superior,  smil- 
ing, "  is  now  Sister  St.  Clvire,  a  novice  in  our  order. 
She  has  been  a  Catholic  almost  since  her  arrival,  but 
until  a  year  ago  did  not  consider  that  she  had  a  vo- 
cation for  the  religious  life." 


UOSSITEK  S    J-rCK. 


197 


"  She  is  well,  I  trust  iiiid  happy  i " 

"  Very  well  indeed,  and  apparently  conteut  and 
clieerful." 

lie  was  longing  to  ask  permission  to  see  her,  i.)ut 
knew  that  it  was  against  the  rules. 

"Will  vou  ohlige  me" — handing  her  his  card — 
"  by  giving  Sister  St.  Clare  my  kind  regards  and  hest 
wishes,  and  asking  her  i)rayers  for  one  who  has  gi-eat 
need  of  them,  i  am  glad  to  know  that  ;;he  has  found 
rest.  Some  day  when  she  is  })rofessed  T  may  be 
able  to  call  on  her." 

He  went  away  sadder  but  })leased  al  the  good 
fortune  which  had  come  t  ^  a  noble  al.  All  day 
long  h'  haunted  the  grounds,  sketching  tin-  build- 
ings and  looking  with  moist  eves  towar(h,  that  part 
where  the  novices  spent  their  leisure  hours.  In- 
sensibly his  thoughts  strayed  away  into  dreamland, 
and  he  began  to  draw  on  a  bit  of  bristol-board  the 
outlines  of  Ruth's  face  as  he  had  seen  it  last,  very 
troubled,  yet  shining  with  the  light  of  a  new-born 
grace.  lie  looked  at  his  finished  work,  grief-stricken, 
yet  patient.  Was  he  never  to  Avhisper  into  her  ears 
the  secret  of  his  heart  ?  Xever !  For  another  more 
noble  than  he  had  claimed  her,  and  he  could  but  write 
around  the  chill  outline  his  name  and  hers  inter- 
twined, with  the  words,  "  I  love  you,"  twisted  about 
in  every  fashion.  The  sun  rose  hot  and  red  in  the 
noonday  sky,  and  hunger  drove  him  to  the  village. 
He  left  the  bit  of  bristol-board  in  the  convent  grounds, 
nor  did  he  miss  it  until  the  next  morning  when  he 
was  many  a  mile  from  the  place.  He  would  have 
returned  for  it  on  the  instant  but  that  he  remembered 
the  rain-storm  '^f  the  preceding  night.     The  sketch 


■'■      if 

,1'     ■  I  ■ 

i  •       ! 


il 


fi.'i. 

hi 


198 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


lying  six  hours  in  tiie  rain  would  now  be  a  mass  of 
unsightly  pulp ! 

He  had  no  fixed  plans  for  his  journey.  He  went 
wherever  fancy  and  circumstance  led  him,  and  wan- 
dered for  months  by  the  Hudson,  on  the  shores  of 
Lake  George  and  Lake  Ohamplain,  along  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  among  the  Thousand  Islands — places 
little  frequented  in  those  days.  His  arrival  at  Clay- 
burgh  was  pure  accident,  but  once  there  he  awoke 
to  sudden  interest  in  Ruth's  home.  He  had  not 
improved  much  in  his  open-air  trampings,  "Whether 
his  heavy  heart  retarded  recovery,  neutralizing  the 
effect  of  change  of  scene,  fresh  air,  and  exercise,  or 
his  carelessness  led  him  into  fresh  disorders,  the  day 
at  least  which  found  him  looking  on  Clayburgh  from 
the  top  of  the  island  described  in  the  opening  chap- 
ter was  a  day  of  special  physical  misery  to  him. 
And  this  was  the  village  Avhere  she  had  lived  and 
grown  to  a  sweet  womanhood !  How  pretty  its 
spires  looked  in  the  morning  sun,  and  how  fresh  the 
wind  which  blew  from  it  to  him  !  He  sat  under  the 
shade  of  the  stunted  tree  with  his  eye  fixed  gloomily 
on  the  water,  and  wondered  when  his  present  self 
was  to  end.  He  was  depressed  enough  to  wish  that 
it  would  find  its  conclusion  here.  She  was  lost  to 
him  forever,  and  he  would  rest  among  the  scenes 
which  she  had  loved. 

"  Sick,"  said  a  voice  beside  him.  Scott  was  stand- 
ing there. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  not  sick  in  body." 

The  sigh  which  followed  the  words  told  the  poet's 
story  very  plainly,  and  Scott  studied  his  pale  face 
with  attentive  interest.     He  somewhat  resembled 


I'll 


I  i 


rossiter's  luck. 


199 


Florian.  Usually  the  hermit  left  strangers  to  them- 
selves as  speedily  as  possible.     Now  he  said : 

"  "When  sorrows  begin  to  knock  a  man  down  it's 
part  of  his  nature  that  he  should  knock  down  in  turn. 
If  he  doesn't  he  must  expect  a  kickin'  as  well.  1 
dunno  but  he  deserves  it." 

Paul  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  for  the  first  time 
surveyed  his  companion.  He  saw  nothing,  however, 
to  astonish  him,  but  the  words  of  the  hermit  rang  in 
his  ears  pleasantly. 

"  Easy  to  talk,"  said  he,  "  but  cleverly  said.  It  is 
like  meeting  a  friend  to  hear  such  words ;  and  I 
have  no  friends." 

"  None  ?  "  said  the  other  distrustfully.  "  A  man 
must  have  done  some  pretty  mean  things  to  get  like 
that." 

"  Perhaps  the  meanest  thing  I  did  was  to  run 
awav  from  misfortune  instead  of  facing  it  and  lettinof 
it  do  its  worst.  The  friends  I  had  God  took  from 
me  for  a  good  purpose  which  I  have  been  slow  to 
acknowledge.  Never  mind.  I  will  go  back  to  New 
York  soon.  I  thought  I  was  dying ;  that  my  tide 
of  fortune,  not  taken  at  the  full,  was  ebbing.  It  was 
a  mistake.     I  shall  return,  no  doubt." 

"  A  man  sometimes  runs  too  far,"  was  dryly  said, 
"  to  make  gittin'  back  safe  or  necessary.  Find  a 
good  battleground  here,  and  wait  for  your  enemies." 

Paul  looked  at  him  a  long  time  in  silent  thought, 
and  then  at  the  scene  around  him. 

"  What  do  you  do  for  a  living  ? '' 

"  Fish,  huni;,  plough  for  myself  an'  no  other.  I 
live  alone  among  these  islands,  an'  when  I've  done 
prayin'  for  myself  I  give  some  time  to  thinkin'  of 


I 


i 


200 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


my  brothers  in  the  world.  [  never  tolerate  com- 
pany.    It  doesn't  pay  ;  it  brings  misfortun'.  " 

He  had  seen  a  purpose  in  Paul's  eye  and  question, 
and  thus  attempted  to  destroy  it,  starting  down  the 
steps  to  his  canoe ;  but  the  poet  caught  him  and  held 
him,  looking  into  his  face  with  a  fixed,  earnest  look, 
not  without  a  suspicion  of  wildness. 

"  I  must  go  with  you,"  he  said,  "  for  I  know  you 
now.  Florian  often  spoke  of  you.  In  old  times 
those  sick  of  the  world  came  to  men  like  you  for 
help  and  consohition.  I  am  sick  of  it.  You  must 
take  me  with  you.     You  will  bear  half  my  troubles." 

"  You're  a  little  crazy,"  said  Scott.  "  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  your  kind."  And  he  laughed  at  the 
man's  feeble  gri]). 

"  Nothing  ? "  repeated  Paul,  following  him  to  the 
canoe.  "  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  as  I  ? 
Why  it  was  just  such  a  sorrow  as  mine,  perhaps, 
which  drove  you  to  this  solitude.  Let  me  be  your 
disciple.     We  are  alike  in  many  ways." 

The  hermit  looked  at  him  again  sharply. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  he  said  coldly.  "  If  so, 
come.  Put  in  practice  the  first  rule  of  this  place — 
silence." 

Wordless  the  poet  entered  the  canoe,  and  the  prow 
was  turned  toward  Eel  Bay. 


<  n  frf 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A    PROPOSAL. 


Florian  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  marry, 
after  the  failure  to  connect  him  with  the  Russian 
nobility,  and  was  saved  from  precipitate  actio  i  only 
by  the  fact  that  Francos  and  her  mother  were  in  the 
mountains  for  the  summer.  The  great  house  was 
lonely  at  this  moment.  He  missed  Frances  exv^eed- 
ingly,  for  in  the  private  reception  room  she  usually 
sat  at  twilight  hour,  and  her  music  was  the  first 
thing  he  heard  on  entering  the  house,  her  form  in 
its  light  drapery  gleaming  through  the  darkness  the 
first  he  saw,  and  he  found  it  pleasant  and  restful  to 
sit  listeniiig  to  the  sweet  melodies. 

Unconsciously,  almost,  P'rances  had  grown  into 
his  life  since  Ruth  was  lost  to  him.  It  would  be 
very  sweet  always  to  have  her  waiting  in  the  twilight 
for  him  in  his  own  house ;  and  she  was  so  very  good 
and  beautiful,  not  very  brilliant  like  Barbara,  not  so 
full  of  character  as  the  strong-souled  Ruth,  but  per- 
fect in  her  way,  and  made  to  reign  over  a  household. 
He  was  not  at  all  certain  of  winning  hor,  but  if  the 
attempt  were  to  be  made  he  was  determined  to  do 
his  best,  as  he  always  did.  It  occurred  to  him  to 
consult  Mrs.  IVEerrion.     "Women  know  one  another 

thoroughly,  and    she  was   shar|>minded,  generous, 

801 


1 


iil 


'\l 


202 


SOLITAPA'    ISLAND. 


and  ever-willing  in  giving  advice,  and  would  be 
happy  to  help  one  of  her  warmest  admirers.  She 
was  residing  for  the  summer  in  a  villa  on  the  Jersey 
coast,  whither  the  Count  and  himself  often  journeyed 
to  dine,  as  it  was  but  an  hour's  ride  from  New  York. 
It  had  surprised  the  gentlemen  that  she  should  choose 
so  quiet  a  spot  instead  of  following  the  fashionable 
crowd. 

"  Well,  I  am  in  a  mood,"  said  Mrs.  Merrion,  "  a 
serious  mood,  and  I  am  going  there  to  read,  to  think, 
to  listen  to  the  sea  roaring,  and  to  enjoy  the  moon- 
light nights  alone." 

"  She  must  have  some  exquisite  plot  hatching," 
was  the  Count's  comment ;  but  Florian,  who  thought 
he  understood  her  better,  saw  no  reason  to  doubt 
the  plain  meaning  of  her  words.  There  was  time 
to  catch  the  noon  boat  and  return  late  the  same  even- 
ing, and  he  hurried  away  at  once  to  the  seaside  town, 
only  to  find  Mrs.  Merrion  unexpectedly  absent.  She 
had  promised  never  to  be  away  from  home  when 
the  boats  arrived.  Neither  did  the  servant  know 
whither  she  had  gone,  and  he  was  left  to  walk  the 
verandas  impatiently  and  to  stray  through  the  rooms, 
one  of  which  perhaps  it  was  intended  he  should  not 
have  seen.  It  was  a  mere  closet,  holding  a  desk, 
a  chair,  and  a  prie-<lieu,  some  pictures,  books,  and 
statues.  But  the  character  of  its  furniture  almost 
took  the  breath  away  from  the  honorable  gentleman. 
On  ^he  desk  lay  a  few  manuscripts,  and  an  open 
: '  :  '--reside  them  suggested  copying.  The  book  was 
the  imitation  of  Chnst.  At  the  back  of  the  desk 
hung  a  crucifix ;  the  pictures  were  of  pious  character, 
and  one  was  a  copy  of  a  mirculous  picture ;  the  books 


A   PROPOSAL. 


208 


» 


were  either  controversial  or  works  of  pure  Catholic 
devotion.  As  he  recollected  that  these  things  were 
not  intended  for  his  eyes,  he  withdrew  hastily  to  the 
outer  air. 

"What  new  freak  was  Mrs.  Merrion  meditating? 
Was  this  the  quiet  and  seclusion  she  had  spoken  of  ? 
"Where  had  she  gotten  these  ideas  ?  lie  had  never 
spoken  to  her  on  religit)us  matters,  and  he  was  un- 
aware of  any  Catholic  ac(|uaintances  who  would  lead 
her  to  such  thoughts  and  doings.  Evidently  this 
freak  would  spoil  Mrs.  Merrion  without  doing  her  any 
good,  and  he  thought,  with  a  jealous  pang,  how  much 
this  incident  resembled  Ruth's  conversion.  He  had 
been  her  nearest  friend,  yet  was  unable  to  make  any 
religious  impression  upon  her,  when  a  strange  poet 
comes  along,  speaks  a  few  words,  and  forthwith  she 
is  all  tears  "VVho  could  the  stranger  be  in  this  in- 
stance? "While  he  was  discussing  the  point  Mrs. 
Merrion  returned,  her  cheeks  very  red  after  a  lively 
walk,  and  with  many  meek  apologies  for  her  delay. 
He  looked  at  her  curiously  and  remarked  the  change 
which  had  almost  imperceptibly  come  upon  her. 
Formerly  she  would  have  thrown  the  blame  of  her 
own  delay  on  his  shoulders,  and  maintained  her  posi- 
tion with  saucy  defiance  of  truth,  reason,  and  polite- 
ness. Now  she  was  a  meek,  quiet  culprit,  waiting  a 
well-deserved  sentence.  It  was  really  painful,  and 
he  told  her  so  immediately. 

"  I  suppose  it's  the  sea  air,"  she  said,  with  a  touch 
of  the  old  archness ;  "  it  makes  everything  damp 
and  clinging.  You  can  hardly  stand  up  when  the 
wind  is  full  of  salt." 

"  But  the  wind  is  blowing  off  the  land  now,"  said 


I 


i'3 


'jitji 


I  il 


i^'i     1  ! 


I 


204 


SOLITAIIV    ISLAND. 


he.  "  It  pains  mc  to  see  you  so  changed.  I  hope 
you  are  not  ill." 

"  "What  nonsense !  "  she  cried  :  "  vou  have  been 
coming  and  coming  all  the  summer,  and  never 
noticed  it  before.  Why  sliould  you  notice  it  now  ? 
I  am  happy  enough,  and  one  should  be  different  at 
the  seaside  from  what  one  is  in  the  citv.  Wait  until 
I  resume  my  position  in  society — if  I  ever  do " 

"  Oh  !  '  if  I  ever  do ! ' "'  repeated  Florian,  in  mock 
amazement. 

"  Well,  Avell.  Ruth  Pendleton  went  into  a  convent 
and  you  were  not  surprised.  Why  should  not  I  do 
the  same  ? " 

"  Oh  I  by  all  means.     You  are  just  suited  for  it." 

"  Have  you  any  news  from  the  city  ? "  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  going  to  be  married." 

She  turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  wide,  startled  eyes, 
and  unseen  by  him  a  faint  pallor  crept  about  her 
trembling  lips. 

"Well,"  said  he,  delighted,  "other  people  are 
married;  why  should  not  I  be  ? " 

She  did  not  speak  at  once,  but  turned  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  over  the  plunging  sea. 

"  It  is  hard  to  know  which  sex  can  do  the  stranger 
things,"  she  said ;  "  they  seem  to  vie  with  each 
other." 

"  In  foolishness,  you  mean.  However,  I  have  not 
dreamed  of  a  monastery  yet.  I  am  waiting  to  hear 
your  question  about  the  lady,  but  you  seem  to  have 
forgotten  your  natural  curiosity.  To  tell  the  truth, 
I  hardly  know  who  she  is  myself. 

"  No  ?     Have  you  fallen  in  love  with  an  ideal  ? " 

"  I  have  not  fallen  in  love  at  all.     I  am  to  marry 


A   PROPOSAL. 


205 


as  a  political  necessity.     I  »iiali  marry  a  Avoman  I 
care  for  of  course,  and  who  cares  for  me " 

"  It  is  not  essential  in  a  political  marriage,"  she 
said,  with  sly  sarcasm,  then  took  a  look  at  his  stolid, 
darkening  face  from  under  her  gypsy  hat. 

"  I  know  that,  but  I  came  to  ask  for  your  advice. 
I  am  in  doubts  as  to  the  wisd<jm  of  asking  a  certain 
lady  to  be  my  wife — I  shall  demand  so  much  of  her 
in  return  for  my  own  condescension.  I  would  not 
wish  to  embitter  her  life  by  making  demands  which 
she  could  not  supply.  Yc)U  can  tell  me  whether  she 
is  capable  of  sustaining  the  burden  of  becoming  Mrs. 
Wallace.     You  know  Miss  Lynch  T' 

"  De  Ponsonby's  daughter?  Oh!— quite  well; 
and  she  is  of  your  own  religious  belief,  too,  which  is 
an  advantage." 

"  Perhaps  it  draws  me  towards  her  out  of  many 
indifferent  fair  ones,  and  she  is  very  beautiful." 

''  And  very  good,  I  know — pious  as  an  angel, 
without  losing  a  woman's  vivacity  or  interest  in 
\vorldly  matters." 

"  Her  piety  I  consider  a  tlrawback.  Women  are 
not  like  men  in  these  matters.  If  moved  at  all  they 
are  carried  too  far,  and  they  mount  a  mere  cere- 
monial observance  and  call  it  standing  on  principle. 
Such  women  are  dangerous." 

"  A'^ery  true.  But  Frances  Lynch  will  not  be  dan- 
gerous unless  you  come  within  reach  of  her  claws. 
Nature  always  provides  its  weak  children  with  ugly 
means  of  defense,  and  the  weaker  the  animal,  the 
uglier  its  weapon.  Then,  you  know,  woman  has  a 
tongue,  but  that  is  nothing." 
-     "  Oh  I  yes,  it's  a  great  deal.     But  I  came  to  you 


>  I 


il 


iii 


- '  la 


l! 


I]    I 


j 


.  ,  'I 


,.'■■ 


I 


I 


206 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


for  advice.  Do  you  think  she  is  the  woman  ?  make 
my  doubts  certainties,  like  the  good  fairy  you  are 
and  always  have  been." 

"  If  I  do  I  shall  ask  a  service  at  your  hands,"  she 
answered  softly.  "  AVell,  my  advice  is,  follow  your 
heart  first- 


?? 


"  I  did  follow  it  once,"  he  interrupted,  "  and  you 
know  how  it  ended.    I  shall  not  try  it  again." 

Florian  was  in  despair.  TJiese  manners  were  not 
Mrs.  Merrion's,  and  while  they  became  her,  as  every- 
thing did,  they  did  not  please  him  so  well  as  the  ordi- 
nary sauciness  and  defiance.  If  the  oratory  was  the 
cause  of  it  he  would  like  to  abolish  it.  She  waited 
for  some  time  after  her  last  words  before  speaking. 
"  I  have  something  to  show  you,"  she  said  reluct- 
antly. He  knew  it  was  the  oratory  and  she  led  the 
way  ther( .  He  was  now  at  liberty  to  express  his 
surprise,  while  she  stood  blushing. 

"  I  see  it  all,"  he  said :  "  this  is  the  meaning  of 
your  desertion  of  the  fashionable  world,  of  your  loss 
of  old  time  cheerfulness  and  vour  increase  of  melan- 
choly.    Who  would  have  believed  it  ? " 

"  You  seem  to  pay  great  attention  to  my  moods." 

"  If  you  are  to  pay  attenion  to  women  you  must 
watch  their  moods,  for  their  moods  are  themselves. 
I  don't  like  to  believe  that  this  summer's  mood  is 
you.    Perhaps  it  will  pass  before  winter." 

"  Oh  !  I  hope  not,  I  hope  not,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"  Would  you  not  wish  me  to  become  a  Catholic  ? " 

"  It  is  natural,  I  suppose,  to  wish  it.  But  it  does 
not  suit  every  soul  to  get  the  faith.  I  hope  it  will 
not  do  you  any  more  damage.  I  would  like  to  be  of 
service  to  you  and  to  advise  you.    The  first  thing 


A  PROPOSAL. 


207 


jj 


I  advise  is,  don't  enter  a  convent.  It's  the  worst 
possible  place  for  a  convert." 

"  I  will  not  if  you  say  so,"  she  answered  mildly, 
and,  the  bell  ringing  for  tea,  they  changed  tlie  con- 
versation. It  was  pleasant  to  Florian  how  much  at 
ease  he  felt  with  Mrs.  ^Merrion,  and  he  thought  Avith 
some  regret  of  the  change  his  marriage  and  her 
conversion  would  cause  in  their  relations.  Barbara 
persisted  in  her  religious  mood  far  into  the  winter, 
and  charmed  her  special  circle  with  the  new  and 
picturesque  lights  religious  melancholy  shed  upon  her 
character.  Florian  was  constantly  at  her  side,  and 
was  as  constantly  putting  off  that  interview  with 
Frances,  which  Peter  Carter  dreaded  and  the  society 
world  was  daily  expecting.  Strange  thoughts  were 
surging  through  him,  passionate,  impossible  schemes 
that  ended  as  they  began — in  nothing.  Vladimir 
opened  his  eyes  for  him.  The  Count  was  charmed 
with  Barbara's  religious  whim,  and  often  rallied 
Florian  as  its  inspirer. 

"  Nature  and  Fate  have  both  favored  you,"  said 
Vladimir  one  day  with  an  envious  look  upon  his  friend. 
"  Mrs.  Merrion  adores  you,  esteems  you.  You  are 
indeed  a  lucky  fellow  to  stand  so  high  in  her  favor, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  be  adored  by  De  Ponsonby's 
fair  daughter.  I  Avish  you  would  choose  between 
them  quickly,  and  give  me  an  opportunity  in  either 
place." 

"  Your  special  line  of  action,"  said  Florian,  flush- 
ing in  spite  of  himself,  "  is  not  apt  to  be  encouraged 
in  those  quarters.     You  are  not  in  Paris." 

"  I  know  that,  but  women  are  w^omen  the  world 
over.    While  you  stand  in  my  light  I  acknowledge  I 


II 


J 


1! 


f 


n 


'^% 


208 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


can  do  nothing  ;  l)ut  give  me  a  clear  field,  remove 
your  Jupitership  to  one  side  or  the  other  and  see  if 
Mercury  is  not  as  good  a  thief  as  ever.  Why  do 
you  dally  so  much  ?  If  you  are  in  doubt  take  my 
advice  and  choose  Barbara.  The  divorce  court  is 
not  pleasant,  but  it  will  do  if  you  work  quickly  and 
quietly." 

"The  divorce  court!"  cried  Florian.  "  That 
sounds  queerly  from  you,  who  are  a  Catholic,  by 
tradition  at  least." 

"I  am  speaking  to  a  politician,"  the  Count  an- 
swered, "  in  whose  path  no  difficulties  are  allowed 
to  stand  where  his  ambitions  are  concerned.  All 
your  good  genii  urge  you  to  choose  Barbara.  You 
have  thought  of  divorce  yourself  many  a  time." 

Florian  did  not  attempt  to  deny  the  assertion, 
only  saying :  "  You  are  taking  too  much  for  granted, 
Count.  I  cannot  see  any  -weighty  reasons  for  such 
a  step." 

"  No  ?  "  The  tone  was  slightly  ironical.  "  First 
of  all,  this  charming  woman  appreciates  you.  Sec- 
ondly, she  has  become  a  Catholic.  Do  you  desire 
the  thirdly,  etc.  ? — for  it  exists  although  you  cannot 
see  it." 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  Florian,  hardly  able  to 
conceal  his  agitation.  "  You  have  a  Parisian  fancy. 
Count.  You  will  not  be  understood  or  appreciated 
in  this  country  for  many  a  year." 

"  These  are  the  days  of  primeval  innocence," 
sneered  the  Count, "  and  the  republic  has  usurped  the 
virtue  of  the  world.  Well,  wear  your  mask,  Florian, 
but  when  you  choose  to  throAv  it  off  let  me  know.  I 
can  lose  no  time  where  I  have  already  lost  so  much." 


A    PROPOSAL. 


209 


to 


V 


the 


During  the  next  few  clays  Florian  loitered  long  in 
Frances'  company,  eager  yet  tlreading  to  pluck  the 
flower  which  grew  so  near  his  hand.  lie  had  not 
proposed  to  her  as  he  iiad  said  he  would,  he  could 
not  bring  himself  to  do  it.  What  if  circumstances 
should  change  the  state  of  affairs?  W/int  if  same 
one  should  die  f  lie  shuddered  at  the  direction  his 
thoughts  were  taking,  and  determined  to  end  the 
uncertai nty  by  an  immediate  ])roposal.  Frances  was 
passing  his  room  one  afterno<jn,  and,  hearing  her 
light  step,  ho  called  to  her  cheerfully  to  enter.  He 
had  fouglit  his  last  battle  with  self  a  few  minutes 
previous,  standing  before  the  pure  pensive  face  which 
hung  over  the  bookcase,  and  he  bad  turned  it  to  the 
wall  with  the  intention  of  removing  it  forever  from 
his  aching  gaze  when  he  had  won  from  his  new  love 
her  promise  to  share  life's  joys  and  trials  with  him. 

"  I  wished  to  show  you  this  ])icture,"  he  said,  as 
Frances  came  timidly  to  him.  "  I  am  going  to  put 
it  away  forever," 

She  smiled  inquiringly,  and  trembled  in  secret. 

"  You  know  its  story,"  he  went  on ;  "  every  one 
knows  it  since  Mr.  Carter  first  heard  it  from  Squire 
Pendleton." 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  replied  Frances,  scarcely  trust- 
ing herself  to  speak.  "  ^Ir.  Carter  was  very  earnest 
about  it,  and  persisted  in  telling  it  more  than  once." 

"  Precisely.     You  did  not  know  Ruth  Pendeton  ? " 

"  I  just  met  her  for  a  moment.  She  seemed  to  be 
a  very  sweet  girl,  and  I  was  glad  to  hear  she  be- 
came a  Catholic." 

"  Yes,"  assented  Florian ;   "  I  suppose  it  was  for 
her  good." 
14 


\[\ 


'ill 


m 


I  >) 


Hi 

,1,  » 


,(j . 


210 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  Will  you  excuse  me  ? "  said  she,  with  a  blush 
which  betrayed  her  fears. 

"  I  shall  detain  you  so  short  a  time,"  he  interrupted 
boldly.  "  I  wish  you  to  know  the  truth  of  this 
affair — it  was  such  a  garbled  story  which  you  heard. 
Do  you  not  think  her  face  a  very  strong  as  well  as 
handsome  one  ?  Would  you  blame  a  man  for  loving 
its  owner  very  deeply  i " 

"  She  was  so  good  ! "  Frances  answered  nervously. 
"  I  thought  more  of  that  than  her  face.'' 

"  She  was  good,  i)()or  Iluth  !  We  grew  up  together 
from  childhood,  and  I  knew  her  goodness  of  heart 
so  well,  and  had  loved  her  even  as  a  bov.  It  was 
no  surj)rise  that  when  wo  had  grown  up  I  should 
have  asked  her  to  marry  me.  She  accepted  me  and 
but  for  the  difference  of  religion  we  would  have 
been  married  these  many  years." 

"  And  now  that  siie  is  a  Catholic  ?  " 

"  Now  that  she  is  a  Catholic,"  he  said  sadly,  "  we 
are  farther  apart  than  ever.  The  old  love  is  dead  ; 
but  we  are  very  good  friends,"  he  added,  without  a 
trace  of  bitterness.  '^  Ruth  is  so  much  my  friend 
yet  that  she  wishes  I  would  get  a  good  woman  for 
my  wife.  I  am  trying  to  do  so.  Tell  me.  Miss 
Frances,  am  I  deserving  of  a  good  one  ? " 

"  If  you  are  not,"  she  replied,  '  rembling,  "  who 
can  be?" 

"  That  is  your  natural  kindliness  of  heart  speaking. 
But  how  many  women  would  care  for  a  man  whose 
heart  was  once  given  to  another  ? " 

"  You  have  it  back  again,"  she  said  with  uncon- 
scious irony. 

"  But  not  sound  and  whole.     The  first  love  broke 


A   PROPOSAL. 


211 


it,  and  the  second  love  may  find  it  hard  to  accept 
second-hand  furniture." 

"  Your  comparison  is  too  literal,"  she  re]  died. 
He  turned  the  picture  once  more  to  the  wall. 

"It  shall  never  look  this  way  again,"  he  said, 
"  until  my  wife  turns  it  with  her  own  hands.  I  am 
in  love  once  more,  and  the  woman  I  love  is  you." 

The  hot  blood  surged  to  her  face  and  back  again 
to  her  heart.  He  took  her  hand  in  his  with  tender 
respect. 

"  I  have  hopes,"  he  continued,  "that  my  love  is 
returr .  d.    May  I  hope  ?  " 

She  f)urst  into  tears  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
He  let  the  storm  wear  itself  out  before  lie  spoke 
again,  and  a  very  sweet  face  she  turned  to  him  when 
he  began  to  assure  her  of  his  love. 

"  I  know  it,"  she  said  faintly.  "  Do  not  tell  me. 
I  return  it  all." 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  what  a  respon- 
sibik  position  you  are  taking.  You  have  now  on 
your  hands  an  ambitious,  hard-working  man.  How 
will  so  gentle  a  being  manage  me  ? " 

"  You  are  so  willing  to  be  managed  :  and  that  is 
the  secret  of  every  woman's  control  over  a  man." 

"  Ah !  "  said  he,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  "  but  not 
always." 

"  You  can  manage  yourself  during  the  '  not 
always, '  "  she  replied. 


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CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MRS.   WINIFEED's  CONFESSION. 

Far  away  from  the  clatter  of  the  town,  in  a 
deep  enclosure  of  trees  stood  the  convent  where 
Kuth  was  passing  the  quiet  days  of  her  no  /itiate. 
The  doubt  and  distress  had  long  been  ended,  and 
faith  had  found  a  resting-place  in  her  soul.  The 
mournful  past  lay  behind  her,  a  picture  with  faded 
outline,  and  all  those  incidents  and  personages 
which  had  made  up  the  circumstances  of  her  life 
seemed  no  more  than  the  remembrances  of  a  troubled 
sleep.  Everything  about  the  convent  life  was  so 
real.  Where  passions  lay  dead  or  asleep  there  were 
no  heartbreakings.  Every  voice  was  soft  and  low, 
every  sound  was  music  ;  the  cheerful  stillness  which 
hung  over  the  place  consecrated  anew  the  sacred 
dwelling.  It  was  a  spot  where  a  soul  came  to  know 
itself  quickly.  So  far  aAvay  now  seemed  the  world 
that  she  took  with  ease  the  resolution  to  retire  from 
its  turmoil  forever. 

One  person  Ruth  could  not  forget.     Paul  Rossiter 

had  so  closely  identified  himself  with  her  conversion 

that  every  thanksgiving  besought  a  benediction  for 

him,  and  no  face  looked  out  more  strongly  than  his 

from  the  misty  past.    As  the  months  passed,  Ruth 

found  her  gratitude  to  the  poet  taking  a  deeper  hold 

on  her  heart.     Self  began  to  fall  away  by  degrees 

212 


MRS.    WINIFRED.S    CONFESSION. 


213 


under  the  friction  of  daily  prayer  and  niortitication, 
Iler  enthusiasms  began  to  diminish  in  number  and 
intensity.  The  first  hot  fervors  of  the  convert  died 
away  into  a  healthier  and  more  sustained  emotion, 
and  with  this  new  feeling  came  the  first  intimations 
that  God  had  not  called  hor  to  the  spiritual  life  of  a 
convent.  She  was  in  lovo  with  her  convent,  there 
was  no  attraction  in  the  world  for  lier ;  marriage 
she  never  thou^jht  of,  her  literarv  tastes  could  be 
more  easily  gratified  where  she  wns ;  yet  into  her 
spirit,  day  by  day,  farther  and  farther  intruded  itself 
the  conviction  that  she  was  not  appointed  to  this 
life.  It  cost  her  many  tears  befoi-e  she  opened  her 
mind  on  the  subject  to  her  confessor.  He  listened 
to  her  story  with  interest  and  was  a  long  time  in 
coming  to  his  decision.  AVhen  he  did  give  one  it 
was  imperative  and  final.  She  nmst  go  home  and 
find  her  vocation  there.  Very  sadly,  and  yet  witli 
some  relief,  she  laid  the  case  before  the  superior. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  said  that  lady,  to  Euth's 
great  astonishment,  "  not  so  much  as  you  were, 
Have  you  ever  heard  anything  about  your  friend, 
Mr.  Kossiter?" 

"  No,  I  have  not.  I  shall  meet  him  some  time 
probably,  if  he  is  living.     I  can  never  forget  him." 

"  And  are  you  absolutely  determined  to  go  into  the 
world  ?  Remember  it  is  quite  possible  that  after  you 
are  outside  your  spirit  may  change  as  powerfully  as 
it  has  on  this  occasion." 

"  I  must  take  the  risk.  I  am  not  going  to  a  bed 
of  roses,  and  I  am  leaving  one.  But  what  can  I  do  ? 
Some  restless  spirit  has  taken  possession  and  will  not 
be  exorcised  until  I  am  gone  hence." 


rt 


!(tt  t 


214 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  Why  not  go  off  as  a  novice  with  permission, 
remain  in  the  world  until  your  mind  is  settled,  and 
then  return  if  it  seems  wise." 

"It  is  kind  of  you  to  suggest  that,"  said  Ruth 
slowly,  "  and  I  will  think  of  it." 

"I  may  as  well  tell  you,"  began  the  superior 
suavely,  "  I  had  a  visit  from  Mr.  Rossiter  during  the 
spring  to  inquire  about  you." 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Ruth  with  parted  lips  and  amazed 
eyes. 

"  He  sent  you  his  regards.  I  was  very  glad  to  meet 
him,  after  all  you  had  told  me  concerning  him.  He 
seemed  to  be  ill,  or  going  into  an  illness." 

Ruth  grew  pale  and  nervous. 

"  I  think  ^Ir,  Rossiter  must  have  a  high  respect  for 
you.  He  loitered  a  long  time  about  the  grounds  after 
his  visit  here  and  indulged  in  some  drawing  and  writ- 
ing. One  of  the  sisters  found  a  specimen  of  his  work 
and  brought  it  to  me.  I  have  preserved  it  for  this 
occasion.  I  would  have  told  you  of  this  long  since 
had  I  thought  it  would  have  been  for  your  good.  It 
is  for  your  good  to  know  it  now." 

She  handed  a  package  to  speechless  Ruth  and  dis- 
missed her.  The  novice  took  it  to  her  room  and 
opened  it  in  feverish  haste.  What  connection  could 
she  have  with  Paul Rossiter's  writings  and  sketches? 
It  was  the  bit  of  bristol-board  on  which  he  had  scrib- 
bled the  day  of  his  visit  to  the  convent.  Ruth  read 
and  studied  it  with  flushed  face  and  moistened  eye, 
and  into  her  heart  slipped  the  first  spark  of  love  to 
light  anew  the  flame  which  gratitude  had  once  lighted 
there.  As  much  as  her  vocation  had  been  a  matter 
of  doubt  before,  so  much  of  a  certainty  it  now  be- 


\  H 


MRS.  Winifred's  confession. 


215 


i  ''\ 


came.  She  left  the  religious  life  absolutely  and  for- 
ever, though  with  many  tears,  and  presented  herself 
one  sunny  afternoon  before  Barbara  Merrion  in 
Brooklyn. 

"  Why,  what  in  the  name  of  everything  uncommon 
and  wonderful."  cried  Barbara,  "  brings  you  here, 
Ruth  Pendleton?"  And  an  angry  light  shot  into 
her  eyes. 

"  I  am  too  tired  to  say  anything  now,"  said  Euth  ; 
"  but  when  I  have  rested  you  can  give  me  your  opin- 
ion on  that."  And  she  handed  her  the  bit  of  bristol- 
board.  Barbara  examined  it  critically,  and  a  happy 
smile  touched  her  face  when  she  caught  its  full  im- 
port. 

"  What  a  happy  destiny  which  threw  this  in  your 
way,"  said  she,  "  before  you  were  bound  to  the  nun's 
life  irrevocably ! " 

"  I  had  resolved  long  before  to  leave  the  convent," 
Ruth  replied.     Barbara  did  not  believe  the  assertion. 

"  We  had  arranged  a  match  for  you  and  Paul  long 
ago,"  Barbara  said,  laughing,  "  and  I  assure  you  wo 
were  bitterly  disappointed  when  our  plans  faileil. 
The  poet  is  not  here  now,  and  no  one  can  tell  where 
he  is." 

"  Flonan  must  know,"  said  Ruth  confidently. 

"  Oh !  dear  no.  They  had  a  quarrel  of  some  kind 
after  you  left,  and  hav^e  nev^er  since  been  intimate. 
Early  in  the  spring  3Ir.  Rossiter  left  his  quarters  and 
has  not  since  been  heard  of." 

"Not  been  heard  of?"  Ruth  murmured  tremu- 
lously. 

"  Were  you  aware  that  about  the  poet's  departure 
there  was  a  mystery,  that  he  was  ill  and  poor  and 


lite  ' 

i 


mm 


216 


80LITAUY   ISLAND. 


wretched  when  he  went  away,  that  Madame  Lynch 
dismissed  him  because  of  a  false  story  of  Peter  Car- 
ter's, that  he  left  the  house  secretly,  and  that  there 
is  a  suspicion  of — shall  I  say  it  ? " 

"  Suicide,"  said  Ruth  calmly,  though  her  face  was 
pale.  "  You  may  say  it,  but  I  do  not,  could  not, 
believe  it  of  him," 

"  Xor  I,"  Barbara  added  with  emphasis  ;  "  but  the 
poor  fellow  left  in  a  sad  plight  and  where  he  went 
no  man  knows." 

"  He  was  at  my  convent  in  the  spring,  and  went 
northward,  Ijut  how  far  or  in  what  direction  was  not 
known." 

"  A  little  money  will  discover  him.  Now  go  to 
bed  for  a  few  hours,  and  when  you  come  down  I 
shall  acquaint  you  with  the  news  of  two  hemispheres 
— some  of  it  interesting,  I  assure  you." 

Ruth  obeyed,  "When  she  sought  Mrs,  Merrion 
later  in  the  day  the  vivacious  sprite  was  carrying  in 
both  hands  her  manual  of  prayer  as  she  walked  tire- 
lessly through  the  long  hall. 

"  You  are  piously  engaged,"  said  Ruth,  smiling 
at  the  unusual  sight. 

"  I  must  be,  hadng  an  ex-nun  here,"  replied  Bar- 
bara, smartly  ;  "  and  then  I  am  making  preparations 
for  my  baptism," 

"  For  your  baptism  ? "  repressing  an  inclina- 
tion to  laugh,  "  Are  you  going  over  to  the 
Baptists  ? " 

"  No,  to  the  Catholics,"  and  her  eyes  fell.  Ruth 
stood  for  a  moment  transfixed  and  actually  sus- 
picious. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  she  said  at  length,  but  there 


lii 


MBS.    WINIFRED  S   CONFESSION. 


217 


was  little  warmth  in  her  good  wishes.  "  AVhen  did 
this  happiness  come  to  you  ?  " 

"  So  long  ago  that  1  scarcely  remember.  It  was 
not  sudden.  It  grew  within  me.  But  let  us  talk  of 
something  more  to  your  taste.  Converts  are  sus- 
picious of  one  another.  You  have  heard,  perhaps, 
that  Florian  is  soon  to  be  married.'* 

"  I  have  heard  none  of  these  things,  but  I  sup- 
posed it  would  take  place  some  time.  Who  is  the 
happy  lady  ? " 

"  You  rememljer  that  Frances  Lynch  who " 

"  What  a  good  choice  he  has  made !  "  Ruth  ex- 
claimed in  delight.  "  I  hardly  expected  it  from 
Florian.  It  will  save  him — surely  it  will  save 
him." 

"  Save  him  from  w^hat  ? "  said  Barbara  sharply, 
and  crossly  too. 

"  From  himself  and  the  temptations  which  surround 
him  in  his  position.  Florian  needs  a  check  of  some 
kind.     I  t^^ink  him  apt  to  fly  beyond  limits." 

"  You  would  make  a  Puritan  of  hira.  I  think  he 
was  fortunate  in  missing  you." 

"  It  was  fortunate  for  us  both,"  Ruth  answered, 
and  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  sigh.  Barbara  sat 
watching  her  secretly.  She  had  improved  very 
much  during  her  absence,  and  the  pale,  spiritual 
light  which  shone  about  her  face  rendered  its  nat- 
ural beauty  more  remarkable.  The  old  aggressive 
firmness  seemed  gone  from  her  manner,  the  old 
determination  had  found  a  different  way  of  express- 
ing itself ;  and,  sweet  and  gentle  as  Ruth  had  ever 
been,  these  qualities  were  now  intensified. 

"  If  she  beckoned  Florian  to  her  now,"  thought 


-n 


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hi 

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11  ■  ij 


. .,  .  ,,    -'ill 
'If!    ^Hil! 


218 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Barbara,  with  some  bitterness,  "  an  army  of  me^s 
and  Franceses  would  not  keep  him  from  her." 

Inquiries  for  the  poet  resulted  only  in  the  dis- 
covery that  not  one  of  his  friends  knew  anything 
of  his  present  abode ;  then  Barbara  began  to  grow 
irritable,  and  Ruth  fled  homeward  without  visiting 
Florian. 

"  And  so  Ruth  Pendleton  is  back  !  "  was  the  crv 
in  Clay  burgh  two  da  j's  after  a  tired  and  disappointed 
woman  left  the  train  at  the  station,  and,  unrecog- 
nized by  her  friends,  walked  in  the  direction  of  the 
Squire's  now  lonely  mansion.  Yes,  Ruth  was  back 
to  the  old  scenes,  a  much  sadder  and  much  happier 
woman  than  when  she  left  them  ;  and  if  the  *■  ^ars 
filled  her  eyes  at  siglit  of  the  familiar  objects,  and 
a  greut  pain  pierced  her  hejirt,  it  was  not  more  than 
the  protest  which  nature  makes  against  change. 
Coming  home  at  a  late  hour  that  night,  Pendleton 
felt  his  heart  give  a  thump  as  he  saw  lights  in  the 
unused  parlor  windows  and  heard  the  tinkling  of 
the  long  closed  piano. 

"  It's  Ruth,"  said  he,  stopping  to  catch  his  breath 
and  rid  himself  of  a  fit  of  trembling.  "  It's  Ruth 
come  back  again  for  good,"  and  he  held  out  his  arms 
to  her. 

"  I've  come  back  for  good,"  she  whispered,  as  he 
threw  his  arms  about  her.  "  I  shall  never  leave  you 
again,  father." 

And  they  both  believed  it ;  for  it  had  been  a  pet 
theory  of  the  Squire's  that  if  Ruth  again  returned 
it  would  be  never  to  leave  him,  and  in  her  hopeless- 
ness at  that  moment  she  felt  a  premonition  that  her 
stay  in  Clayburgh  was  to  be  permanent. 


. 


MRS.   WINIFRED  8  CONFESSION. 


219 


"  And  where  did  you  come  from  ?  "  said  the 
Squire. 

"  From  New  York ;  and  I  have  some  astonishing 
news  for  you.  Barbara  Merrion  has  become  a 
Catholic,  and  Florian  is  going " 

"  Hold  on ! "  said  the  Squire,  with  a  gasp,  and 
maybe  an  oath.  "  Barbara  become  a  Catholic ! 
Ruth,  you'll  have  to  don  your  old  clothes.  It  isn't  a 
religion  for  any  one  when  she's  in  it." 

"  She  is  very  much  changed,"  said  Ruth,  in  a  tone 
that  seemed  to  approve  of  the  Squire's  sentiments. 
"  You  would  not  know  her." 

"H'ml"  grunted  Pendleton.  "Pd  know  her  if 
she  put  on  the  Pope's  own  rig.  She's  Barbery  all 
the  same.  I'll  wager  any  sum  that  she's  up  to  some 
of  her  devilish  tricks.  She  hasn't  got  her  eye  on 
Florian  now,  has  she  ?  It  would  be  easy  enough  to 
give  old  Merrion  the  slip,  and  she'd  coax  an  angel 
into  sin,  I  swear." 

"  Florian  is  engaged  to  Frances  Lynch." 

"  O  Jer-rusalem !  "  said  the  Squire,  with  a  mighty 
roar  of  pain.  "  Then  it's  all  over,  Ruth — it's  all 
over."  And  in  an  instant  tlie  tears  were  falling  in 
a  shower  and  a  few  sobs  shook  him  fiercely.  He 
had  never  given  up  his  hope  that  Florian  and  Ruth 
would  yet  be  reconciled. 

"  It  was  all  over  years  ago,"  Ruth  replied,  gently. 
"  I  did  not  think  you  expected  it  still,  father." 

"  And  I  had  no  right  to,"  said  the  Squire,  striding 
impatiently  down  the  room.  "  You  never  held  out 
a  hope,  though  Florian  thinks  just  as  much  of  you 
to-day  as  he  did  ten  years  ago.  Let  it  pass.  I'm 
alwaj's  making  a  fool  of  myself.     Don't  know  when 


'J 


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V 


r  5 ! 


220 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


I  cried  before.  And  so  Barbery  is  a  papist,  hey  ?  I 
wonder  how  long  she'll  remain  one  ?  And  Florian's 
done  it  at  last !  "Well,  he's  got  a  mighty  nice  girl, 
but  it  won't  please  Peter  Carter  much," 

"  What  about  Mr.  Carter  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Oh!  you  knew  him — the  greatest  fool  that  ever 
lived;  and  I  dunno,"  added  the  Squire  dubiously, 
"  but  that  I  was  a  greater  fool,  for  I  actuall}'  thought 
that  man  a  genius.  He  had  an  idea  that  Flory  wjis 
no  match  for  that  Lynch  girl,  and  was  anxious  to 
help  me  in  matching  3'ou  and  Flory.  He  did,  but 
he  helped  me  the  wrong  way.  Pm  inclined  to  in- 
vite him  up  here  this  summer,  and  let  him  make  an 
ass  of  himself  through  the  town." 

"  It  would  not  be  becoming,"  said  she ;  "  he  is  too 
— too- 


55 


"  Too  much  of  a  talker,"  supplemented  her  father. 
"  Yes,  he  gives  one  away  every  five  minutes  when  a 
secret  is  entrusted  to  him.  Oh  !  no  ;  I'll  not  invite 
him  to  this  house.  Well,  Ruth,  you're  back,  and  I 
am  consoled  for  all  my  waiting.  I'll  have  to  stand 
a  pile  of  chaff,  though,  from  the  boys  when  they  see 
you  going  up  to  the  Catholic  Church.  How  will  you 
stand  the  women  though  ? " 

"  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  Ruth  cheerfully,  "  for  I 
am  a  sort  of  balance  for  Sara  Wallace's  defection." 

"  That's  a  good  argument,"  said  the  Squire  in  de- 
light. "  I'm  glad  you  mentioned  it,  for  I'll  give  it 
to  'em  first  thing.  I  hope  you're  contented,  Ruth, 
with  your  new  clothes.     Do  they  fit  easy  ? " 

"  So  contented  !  "  said  Ruth,  with  a  happy  smile. 
"  And  oh !  if  I  could  persuade  you " 

"  There,  there ! "  he  interrupted  hastily.     "  It's  all 


mmmmm 


MRS.   WINIFREDS   CONFESSION. 


2^:1 


right  if  you  are  bappy,  but  don't  try  to  rope  me  into 
any  of  these  religions.  They're  good  enough  for  the 
women,  but  they're  beyond  me.  I  thought  more  of 
Catholics,  though,  before  Barbery  j<Mned  them." 

With  a  sigh  Euth  relinquished  the  appeal  which 
she  had  intended  to  make  to  him. 

"  I  must  warn  you,"  continued  the  Squire,  "  that 
if  you  try  to  convert  me  I'll  take  to  drink,  upon  my 
honor.  I'll  get  too  stupid  to  understand  an  argu- 
ment. So  just  let  up  on  ideas  of  that  kind.  Go  to 
bed  now,  and  slee^  off  convent  notions." 

During  the  next  few  days  the  greater  portion  of 
the  town  paid  its  respects  to  Ruth.  Among  her 
visitors  were  the  worthy  elders  of  the  various  con- 
gregations, curious  to  knoAV  by  what  process  of  rea- 
soning this  young  lady  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy, 
and  many  were  the  amusing  questions  put  to  her. 
Her  great  defense  was  the  perversion  of  Mrs.  Buck 
and  the  right  of  private  judgment.  With  these 
weapons  she  triumphed  easily,  and  Clay  burgh  ac- 
cepted the  position  with  the  easy-going,  matter-of- 
fact  slowness  which  is  an  inheritance  from  Manhat- 
tan ancestors  and  does  not  prevail  in  bitter,  unfor- 
giving New  England,  Mrs.  Wallace  had  not  called, 
much  to  Ruth's  surprise,  and  at  the  first  opportunity 
she  went  over  to  see  her.  Time  had  dealt  hardly 
with  the  placid  lady.  The  Mrs.  Winifred  who  feebly 
grasped  Ruth's  hand  was  an  insignificant  shadow  of 
the  stout,  timid  lady  of  three  years  ago.  She  tried 
to  smile  and  chat  with  the  old-time  manner,  but  had 
not  breath  enough  for  so  large  a  word  as  "  seem- 
ingly," and  Ruth  sorrowfully  recognized  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Winifred's  days  were  numbered.     Her 


if 


i 


i        ^9 


222 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


f\  I 


U  ' 


chief  anxiety  was  for  Florian.  Florian  was  the 
theme  of  every  conversation,  and  her  chief  anxiety 
was  whether  her  boy  was  uneasy  in  mind  and  haunted 
by  any  apprehensions. 

"  Because  if  he  is,"  she  said  to  Ruth,  "  I  can  help 
him,  and  I  will  in  spite  of  every  one." 

It  was  the  most  determined  expression  Mrs.  "Wini- 
fred had  ever  been  known  to  use,  and  only  her  ex- 
treme weakness  accounted  for  and  excused  it. 

"  I  shall  not  last  much  longer,"  said  Mrs.  Wini- 
fred, after  a  few  moments  of  silence.  "  I  wish  it 
had  ended  long  ago.  Bat  no  matter,  Ruth,  let  me 
tell  you  something ;  this  trouble  is  all  about  Florian 
and  Linda  and  I  feel  it  here,"  laying  her  hand  on 
her  breast,  "gnawing  always.  In  a  few  days  I  shall 
send  for  you,  maybe,  to  do  me  a  favor.  You  will 
come,  won't  you?    Promise  me,  Ruth." 

"  Oh !  certainly,"  said  Ruth  assuringly,  for  the 
sick  woman  began  to  get  dangerously  eager. 

"Ah!  but  you  must  promise,  dear,"  she  cried, 
catching  Ruth's  dress  with  feverish  bands.  "  Seem- 
ingly, you  must  promise  that  you  will  come,  no  mat- 
ter what  stands  in  the  way." 

"  I  promise,"  answered  Ruth. 

After  scanning  her  features  for  awhile  in  an  in- 
valid's pitiful  way,  she  lay  back  satisfied. 

"  What  do  3''0u  think  of  her  ? "  said  Billy  when 
next  he  met  her. 

"  What  can  you  think  of  a  dying  woman  ?  You 
will  not  have  her  long.  Why  not  send  for  Florian  ? 
She  is  always  speaking  of  him." 

"  The  Pere  wouldn't  hear  of  it,"  said  Billy,  tremu- 
lously.    "  No,  no,  he  wouldn't  hear  of  it.     I  couldn't 


MRS.    WINIFRED'S   CONFESSION.                  223 

the 

perinit  it.     It  was  that  Russi.m,  the  divil !  that  did 

iiety 

it  all.     Ever  since  he  came  here  we  got  no  good  of 

nted 

her.    It's  awful !  " 

Ruth  wondered  at  the  Fere's  interference  in  the 

help 

matter,  but  said  nothing,  as  she  wished  to  speak  to 

the  priest  later. 

V^ini- 

"  It  seems  reasonable,"  she  remarked  to  her  father, 

r  ex- 

"  that  if  the  poor  woman  wishes  to  see  her  son  she 

ought  to  see  him." 

rini- 

"Why,  of  course,"  shouted  Pendleton,  "and  so 

h  it 

she  shall.     I'll  send  for  him — no,  I'll  go  for  him  my- 

me 

self." 

rian 

"  And  do  all  sorts  of  harm,"  Ruth  interposed. 

cl  on 

"  No,  no,  father ;  but  you  might  find  out  from  Billy 

;hall 

what  his  reason  is  for  not  infonning  Florian  of  his 

will 

mother's  condition.     Then  we  would  the  better  know 

what  to  do." 

the 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  the  Squire,  with  a  blush  for  his 

own  stupidity. 

[•ied, 

"And  to-morrow,"  said  Ruth,  "you  must  get  out 

jera- 

the  boat  and  take  me  over  to  the  islands.    I  have 

nat- 

not  seen  the  hermit  since  my  return." 

"  There  isn't  much  about  him  to  see,"  said  her 

father  in  disgusted  tones.     "  He's  had  a  doctor  run- 

1 in- 

ning  over  there  for  some  time  seeing  to  a  patient  who 

lives  with  him  or  near  him,  and  not  one  of  us  can 

hen 

find  out  who  the  sick  man  is." 

"  Trust  a  woman  to  do  that,"  said  Ruth.     "  I  shall 

Fou 

know  what  is  to  be  known  about  him  by  this  time 

an? 

to-morrow  night." 

Since  the  day  she  had  bidden  him  good-bye  in  the                              < 

mu- 

cabin  previous  to  her  departure  for  Xew  York  slu» 

dn't 

had  not  set  eyes  on  Scott,  and  she  was  curious  to 

1 
i 

:■     ifi 


I'     ( 

l'     '      " 


224 


SOLITAKY   ISLAND. 


I, 


'♦ 


1u! 

•IS 

1  •  : 

:!i       i 

11-    i: 


learn  what  changes  time  had  made  in  his  looks, 
habits,  and  opinions.  They  went  over  the  next 
day,  and  w  ere  a  long  time  getting  to  their  destination 
owing  to  scanty  wind  ;  but  the  scenes,  the  old  scenes 
were  so  very  beautiful  that  Ruth  could  have  lingered 
even  longer  among  them.  A  soft  haze  rested  like  a 
veil  on  distant  objects,  and  the  river  was  dotted  with 
the  boats  of  fishing-parties,  whose  songs  and  merry- 
making floated  pleasantly  to  the  ear.  Every  spot 
was  a  memory  to  Ruth,  and  Linda's  bright  face 
seemed  ready  to  peep  coquettishly  from  behind  rock 
and  tree.  They  came  to  anchor  opposite  the  well- 
known  boulder,  and  Ruth,  leaping  ashore,  ran 
eagerly  up  to  the  house  and  knocked  smartly.  She 
heard  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  room  within,  but 
only  the  hermit  met  her  at  the  door.  He  had  Izaah 
Walton  in  his  hand  and  a  cold  look  on  his  face,  but 
she  offered  both  hands  so  radiantly  that  he  could  not 
but  smile  at  her  delight  and  shake  them  gingerly. 

"  You  are  welcome  back,"  said  he  gravely. 
"  You've  come  to  a  safe  harbor,  and  I  hope  you'll 
stay  in  it." 

"  You  may  be  certain  that  I  will,"  she  answered 
in  a  low  voice. 

Scott  led  the  way  into  tLo  house — the  same  old 
house,  unchanged  even  to  ilie  patches  on  the  bed- 
quilt.  Ruth's  tears  began  ;-iddenly  to  flow  as  she 
stood  looking  at  the  only  perishable  spot  about  her 
which  had  a  seeming  of  immortality.  There  it  stood, 
not  one  iota  different  from  the  room  in  which  Florian 
and  Scott  and  she  had  discussed  measures  for  the 
Squire's  safety  nearly  a  decade  of  years  past. 

"  I  always  thought  it  the  gate  of  heaven,"  she 


i^i«** 


MRS.   WINIFRED  S   CONFESSION. 


225 


said,  smiling  through  her  tears,  "  but  now  I  am  sure 
of  it." 

"  It  makes  little  difference  to  some  people  what 
gate  it  is,"  he  replied.  "  They  wouldn't  take  ad- 
vantage of  it  anyhow." 

"  The  nearer  you  get  the  harder  to  get  on,"  said 
Kuth ;  "  and  the  gate  is  the  worst  part  of  the 
road." 

His  eyes  flashed  an  instant's  surprise  and  ad- 
miration. 

"  You've  learned  something  since  you  were  here 
last,"  he  deigned  to  say. 

"  Learned  something  ? "  retorted  the  Squire,  labor- 
ing to  keep  his  oar  in  the  conversation.  "  AVh}', 
man,  do  you  think  a  woman  goes  backward  as  she 
gets  older  ?    Men  advance,  why  not  she  ? " 

"  I  didn't  say  that  men  advance,"  replied  Scott, 
"or  that  women  didn't.  Flory  used  to  say  that 
woman  was  the  only  creature  which  learned  noth- 
ing from  experience." 

"  Right  he  was,  too.  When  Flory  said  a  thing  he 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head  every  time." 

"  You  saw  him  lately,  perhaps  ? "  said  the  hermit 
to  Ruth. 

"  Yes,  and  he  was  very  proud  and  happy  in  the 
possession  of  a  young  lady  whom  he  is  soon  to  call 
his  wife." 

"  Ah ! "  said  Scott  indifferently. 

"  But  his  mother  is  so  ill,"  Ruth  went  on  ;  "  and 
the  family  do  not  seem  to  think  of  sending  for  him. 
She  is  always  speaking  of  him." 

"These  great  statesmen,"  said  Scott,  "are  not 
always  willin'  to  give  up  their  time  to  sick  people. 


lik 


226 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


ii! 


He  musL  have  consid'able  work  on  his  hands  be- 
sides." 

"  You  have  not  asked  me  yet,"  said  Euth,  "  about 
my  experiences  since  I  left.  They  have  been  very 
new  I  assure  you." 

"  I  know  them  all,"  Scott  replied  briefly. 

"  And  you  take  no  credit  to  yourself  for  that  ful- 
fillment of  your  prophecies  ? " 

"  They  might  never  have  been  fulfilled,  an'  they 
weren't  prophecies.  I  guessed  what  might  have 
happened,  an'  it  did — that's  all," 

Tluth  was  disappointed,  Scott's  ordinary  brusque- 
ness  seemed  to  have  taken  a  more  gloomy  shade, 
and  the  sarcastic,  rough  philosophy  of  his  speech  to 
have  given  way  to  a  matter-of-fact  plainness.  They 
talked  on  in  an  aimless  way  for  a  half  hour  longer, 
and  then  took  their  leave  dissatisfied,  without  hav- 
ins:  discovered  anv  trace  of  the  stranger  who  was 
supposed  to  be  living  with  the  hermit.  Ruth  pressed 
his  hand  at  parting,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  You  are  as  human  as  the  rest  of  us,"  she  said. 
"  You  have  changed,  and  not  for  the  better." 

He  did  not  reply,  and  Ruth,  as  they  sailed  away, 
watched  him  sadly. 

"  Change,  change,  and  nothing  but  change,"  she 
murmured.  "  I  am  getting  old  indeed.  None  but 
the  old  feel  change.  These  diff'erences  in  people  hurt 
me." 

Until  the  new  life  began  to  fit  her  shoulders  she 
was  weighed  down  with  despondency.  For  a  time 
it  seemed  hardly  worth  the  trouble  to  live  and  fight 
the  daily  heartache  and  try  to  fill  up  the  sense  of 
loss  which  existed  in  her  soul.     Nursing  feeble  Mrs. 


mmm. 


MRS.    WINIFRED  S   CONFESSION. 


227 


Winifred  helped  her  to  overcome  these  feelings. 
But  as  the  lady  grew  weaker,  and  there  was  the 
same  hesitation  in  sending  for  Florian,  she  began  to 
feel  indignant.  Every  day  the  mother  called  inces- 
santly for  her  son.  She  did  not  ask  to  see  him,  but 
an  increasing  anxiety  as  to  his  personal  safety  was 
evident  in  her  manner.  Although  it  was  thought 
she  was  delirious  at  times,  Ruth  perceived  a  hidden 
meaning  in  the  apparently  wild  utterances.  Ruth 
was  about  to  send  word  to  Florian  when  one  day  Mrs. 
Winifred  called  her  and  gave  her  the  key  of  a  cup- 
board in  the  room. 

"  Open  that,"  she  said,  "  and  then  follow  my 
directions." 

The  cupboard  contained  on  its  dusty  shelves  a  few 
old  books  and  papers.  At  the  back  was  a  secret 
compartment  neatly  inserted  and  concealed  in  the 
plastering ;  and  from  this  mysterious  hiding-place 
RutI'  drew  out  a  metal  box  small  enough  to  be 
carried  in  the  pocket. 

"  Now  get  pen  and  paper,"  said  Mrs.  Winifred, 
with  a  new  decision  in  her  voice,  "  and  write  as  I 
bid.  Seemingly  this  can't  List  forever,  a.  1  I'll  not 
have  Florian's  blood  on  my  hands." 

Ruth  sat  down  in  awed  -.ilence  and  b,  gan  to  write 
the  following  confession.  Several  times  she  laid 
aside  the  pen  in  Lunazement,  thinking  Mrs.  Winifred's 
senses  had  taken  leave  of  her  ;  but  the  lady  smiled 
reassuringly  and  bade  her  continue  : 


Mi 


"  Florian  Wallace  and  his  sister  Linda  are  not  ray 
' \Aildren.  Thirty  years  ago  a  stranger  cai.ie  with 
them  to  me  and  begged  me  to  take  care  of  them. 


i^sa 


228 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


Hi  i 


mm 
I 


111 


Their  mother  was  dead,  aud  he  offered  me  a  large 
sum  if  I  would  adopt  them  as  my  own  and  keep  from 
them  forever  the  secret  of  their  parentage.  I  have 
done  so  up  to  this  moment.  Floriau  now  stands  in 
danger  from  secret  enemies,  and  I  make  this  confes- 
sion for  his  benefit,  that  he  may  know  how  to  meet 
them.  His  father  resembled  him  closely,  but  that 
his  hair  was  yellow  and  his  eyes  blue.  He  told  me 
his  story.  He  was  from  Russia,  compelled  to  fly 
because  of  his  religion.  He  wished  that  his  children 
should  never  r3turn  to  Russia,  and  urged  me  to  rear 
them  as  my  own.  He  had  papers  in  his  possession 
which  he  intended  to  destroy  ;  but  I  stole  them  from 
him  and  kept  them  to  this  day.  What  their  value 
is  I  do  not  know.  He  left  his  children  with  me  and 
went  away.  Some  time  ago  a  stranger,  said  to  be  a 
Russian,  came  to  this  town,  I  believe  he  was  look- 
ing for  the  children.  I  know  he  will  do  harm  to 
Florian,  and  I  warn  him.  My  husband  can  witness 
to  the  truth  of  this  confession, 

""WiNiFBED  Wallace." 


i 


I 


"  You  will  give  that  to  Florian,"  said  she  feebly, 
"  and  also  the  box.  It  was  a  great  trouble  to  me, 
but  now  I  feel  better.  You  will  have  to  be  secret. 
There  are  some  who  think  I  have  the  papers,  and 
would  like  to  destroy  them.  Be  careful,  my  dear — 
be  careful." 

Exhausted  by  the  effort  she  had  made,  Mrs.  Wini- 
fred fell  asleep,  and  Ruth  was  left  to  think  over  and 
realize  this  strange  story.  The  metal  box  was  easily 
opened.  It  was  full  of  papers,  legal  documents  most 
of  them,  composed  in  French,  and  all  tending  to  show 


k^.. 


MRS.   WINIFRED'S   CONFESSION. 


229 


that  certain  persons  were  nobles  or  princes  of  high 
rank  in  Kussia.  And  so  Linda,  poor  dear  Linda, 
was  perhaps  a  Kussian  princess,  born  to  hixury  and 
love,  to  move  through  storied  halls  in  proud  attire, 
to  live  among  the  great  and  might}^ ;  and  fate  had 
given  her  instead  a  home  and  grave  in  an  obscure 
American  town.  She  could  not  picture  to  herself 
that  dainty  girl  in  any  other  form  than  the  sweet, 
familiar  one,  nor  fancy  her  a  haughty  lady  of  royal 
blood.  And  Florian  was  a  prince!  It  was  easy, 
indeed,  to  dream  of  him  in  such  a  position,  who  had 
ever  been  a  prince  among  men ;  but  she  sighed  as 
she  recalled  his  present  temper,  and  thought  how 
little  such  an  elevation  would  benefit  him.  His 
grasping  ambition  would  now  be  increased  and  the 
field  of  wicked  opportunities  widened.  While  she 
sat  and  thought  the  sick  woman  opened  her  eyes 
again. 

"  Ruth,  dear,"  she  whispered,  "  you  must  carry 
the  letter  to  New  York  yourself.  I  could  not  trust 
It  in  any  other  hands." 

"No,"  replied  Euth ;  "but  Florian  shall  c^  .  e 
aff^r  it." 

A  look  of  joy  passed  over  Mrs.  Winifred's  pale 
face. 

'-  X  would  so  like  to  see  him  again  I  "  she  sai  1. 

And  Ruth  posted  with  her  own  hands  a  letter  to 
Florian,  urging  him  in  strange,  mysterious  language 
to  lose  no  time  in  reaching  Clayburgh.  That  night 
Mrs.  Winifred  died  suddenly  and  alone.  They  found 
the  poor  woman,  her  beads  clasped  in  her  hands, 
quite  cold.  She  would  never  look  again  on  the  boy 
to  whom  she  had  been  so  faithful  and  kind  a  mother. 


w 


ill 


en, 

w 

I 


'   fcV 
''   P, 


lU 


r 


i'l 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


BARBARA  WINS. 


'•M 


i  \ 


The  chief  mourner  at  the  funeral  was  Mrs.  Buck, 
to  whom  had  bet  :tip  tie  known  the  curious  fact  that 
she  \\  as  the  only  <■  of  her  parents.  She  wept 
copiously  over  bcia  rows.  Florian  seized  upon 
his  papers,  and  made  vigorous  attempts  upon  Billy 
and  the  priest  to  discover  if  his  father  were  yet  liv- 
ing. They  knew  nothing  or  would  reveal  nothing 
and  he  was  compelled  to  give  uj)  the  effort  for  a  time, 
and  learn  what  Billy  could  tell  him  in  detached  sen- 
tences of  the  first  appearances  of  his  father.  It  was 
meager  information.  However,  with  legal  accuracy 
he  jotted  down  dates  and  facts,  and  carried  them 
home  with  him.  He  continued  to  keep  his  own 
counsel  regarding  late  events  and  to  study  up  a  line 
of  action.  His  was  an  eminently  practical  mind. 
Ho  thought  less  of  his  title  and  his  ancestry  than  of 
the  gold  they  represented.  The  idea  of  donning  his 
princely  name  and  settling  down  in  Russia  entered 
his  mind  onlv  to  be  ridiculed.  He  would  not  do 
such  a  thing  tven  were  it  at  all  feasible ;  with  as- 
sassination threatening  it  would  be  the  highest  folly. 
His  chief  difficulty  was  the  mess  of  pottage.  If  he 
could  get  a  half-million  !  It  was  a  large  sum — half 
of  it  was  a  large  sum — but  one  serious  circumstance 

threatened  to  diminish  and  perhaps  destroy  it.     His 

230 


BARBARA    WINS. 


231 


father  was,  perhaps,  still  living,  and  no  plans  that 
he  could  form  safely  bridged  that  difficulty.  Prince 
Louis  of  Cracow  would  not  risk  his  money  on  chance, 
nor  would  he  himself  care  to  act  so  freely  with  what 
was  only  presumptively  his  own. 

After  many  days  of  weary  thinking  he  came  to 
no  conclusion  in  regard  to  his  numncr  of  procedure 
with  the  Count.  Florian  did  not  care  to  tell  him  at 
once  of  his  late  discovery.  If  his  father  were  alive 
it  became  necessary  to  produce  him.  If  he  were 
dead  his  death  must  be  well  proven  before  the  Prince 
of  Craco.v  would  part  with  his  gold  to  the  prince's 
son.  x\nd  Florian  so  needed  the  money  that  he 
could  not  th.nk  of  the  dread  possibility  of  waiting 
for  it  another  year.  The  convention  of  the  next 
summer  was  to  nominate  a  candidate  for  governor, 
and  he  was  determined  to  try  for  the  nomination  ; 
but  lie  needed  gold  to  soften  his  own  i)arty  and  to 
gild  his  religion  out  of  sight.  Here  was  his  only 
chance  to  obtain  it.  Ambition's  fever  was  eating 
him  up,  and  his  moral  perceptions,  long  blunted, 
seemed  losing  their  edge  entirely.  lie  allowed  the 
autumn  and  winter  to  slip  aAvay  without  doing  more 
than  to  set  a  very  commonplace  detective  on  his 
father's  track.  Nothing,  of  course,  was  discovered 
concerning  him.  His  only  confidant  in  business 
matters  was  Mrs.  Merrion,  whom  he  had  not  yet 
made  aware  of  his  change  of  fortune.  He  called  on 
her  o-  1  afternoon  when  twilight  was  drawing  near 
and  visitors  and  admirers  were  sure  to  be  put  aside. 
She  had  a  new  doubt  of  conscience  for  him  to  solve. 
Her  conscience  always  troubled  her  now  that  she 
was  a  Catholic. 


ill 


232 


SOL'TARY    ISLAND. 


m 


Si'" 


% 

■*:t 


Mi 


!    ,    ! 


^hr 


[I 


"  Father  Baretti  told  me  to-dav  " — she  affected 
foreign  clergymen — "  I  had  been  speaking  to  him  of 
some  dear  gentlemen  friends  of  mine " 

"  God  help  him,"  groaned  Florian,  "  if  he  has  to 
listen  to  the  tales  of  women !  I  know  a  tithe  of 
what  his  sufferings  must  be." 

"  But  let  me  tell  you " 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried  impatiently,  "  not  a  word.  But 
let  me  tell  you  what  I  came  to  say.  "Would  you 
take  me  for  a  Eussian  prince  of  royal  blood  ? " 

"I  -would  take  you  for  a  czar,"  siie  said  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

"  "Well,"  said  he,  standing  before  her  smilingly, 
"if  you  ask  the  Count  he  will  tell  you  that  he  does 
not  believe  I  am  [lain  Florian  Wallace.  He  will 
swear  also  that  I  am  Prince  Florian  of  Cracow,  the 
heir  to  a  noble  title  and  estate,  whom  he  has  been 
commissioned  to  find  in  this  country.  For  want  of 
proof  he  has  not  been  able  to  do  it.  But  I  have 
the  proofs  now.  My  supposed  mother  gave  them 
to  me  on  her  death-bed,  and  I  am  at  this  moment 
truly  the  Prince  Florian.     Is  it  not  a  romance  ? " 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  but  sat  staring 
into  his  earnest  face.  His  strange  words  carried 
conviction  with  them,  but  they  caused  her  such  as- 
tonishment and  bitter  disappointment  that  her  first 
expression  was  a  half-stifled  sob. 

He  looked  at  her  curiously.  "  I  suppose,"  she 
began,  "  oh — I  do  not  know  what  to  say.  I  cannot 
congratulate  you.  Pray  tell  me  all  from  the  begin- 
ning." 

He  obeyed,  and  she  listened  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Oh  !  what  a  happy  destiny,"  she  cried  ;  "  what 


k 


BARBARA    WINS. 


233 


a  future  for  your  wife!  How  we  missed  it  that 
thought  so  little  of  you  in  Clayburgli!  "What  a 
bitter  punishment  for  us !  " 

"  Ay,  indeed,"  he  sighed,  "  what  a  bitter  punish- 
ment ! " 

"  Ruth  will  be  sorry  enough  now  that  she  threw 
you  aside." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he  moodily  ;  "  she  it  was  who 
lirst  heard  the  story  and  got  me  the  proofs.  There 
was  not  one  whit  of  regret  in  her  manner.  If  there 
had  been " 

He  growled  the  rest  of  the  sentence  to  himself. 

"If  there  had  been,"  she  continued  maliciously 
and  bitterly,  "somebody  would  be  left  out  in  the 
cold." 

A  burning  flush  spread  over  his  face. 

"  You  see  how  I  estimate  you,"  she  said  archly, 
"  and  you  cannot  get  offended  at  tlie  truth." 

"  I  have  not  the  title  yet.  I  am  not  going  to  Rus- 
sia nor  to  wear  my  title.  I  am  going  to  sell  my  right 
to  it  and  remain  in  America." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  wear  your  title  !  you  are 
going  to  remain  in  America !  That  takes  the  ro- 
mance from  the  story.  I  don't  feel  like  helping  any 
one  that's  so  foolish  as  to  do  that." 

"  It  is  not  so  very  foolish.  I  am  to  run  for  the  gov- 
ernorship of  this  State,  and,  if  I  have  money  enough, 
I  sliall  get  the  place.  Which  would  you  prefer,  the 
governor  or  the  prince  ? " 

"  The  governor,  by  all  means,"  said  she  promptly, 
seeing  that  such  was  his  inclination. 

"But  my  father,  who  has  the  first  claim,  may 
be  living.    I  cannot  sell  while  he  is  known  to  be 


:i 


m 


234 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


m 


■  -I  i 


[.  1 1 


alive ;  and  if  he  appears  or  does  not  appear,  where 
ami?" 

"  Act  as  if  he  were  dead.  Probably  he  is,  and  will 
never  disturb  you." 

He  walked  the  room  in  thought.  The  twilight  had 
deepened  into  darkness  and  the  street-lamps  outside 
were  shining  on  the  wintry  night.  Her  advice  had 
occurred  to  him  already,  but  he  did  not  like  to  whisper 
its  dishonesty  to  himself. 

"  I  will  think  about  it,"  he  said  ;  "  it's  a  nice  point 
to  decide." 

"  And  naughty,"  said  Barbara  cheerfully  ;  "  but  it 
is  the  only  thing  to  do,  and  you  ought  to  do  it  im- 
mediately, if  you  expect  to  have  the  money  in  time 
for  the  convention.  You  are  attempting  high  flights, 
Florian." 

"  It  will  not  be  my  last  if  it  succeeds.  .  If  it  does 
not  I  shall  come  down  with  a  crippled  wing." 

"  Prince  Florian,"  said  she,  half  to  herself,  "  I  fear 
me  you  will  get  the  cri}ipled  wing.  In  some  ways 
you  have  not  the  support  you  should  have.  Frances 
is  too  weak  a  woman  for  you." 

"I  know  it,"  he  said  calmly,  but  his  face  had 
whitened  suddenly  and  his  hands  were  trembling. 
"  But  the  one  woman  fitted  to  support  me  is  beyond 
my  reach." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Love  and  ambition 
laugh  at  many  things.  I  know  one  woman  who,  if 
you  would  dare  to  to  take  her  in  spite  of  many  diiR- 
culties,  would  be  willing  to  follow  you  into  hovel  or 
palace.  But  you  are  too  fearful.  You  would  not 
dare  to  do  as  she  would  dare." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered  ;  and  then,  after  a 


BARBARA    WINS. 


286 


a 


pause,  he  said  in  u  singularly  quiet  voice,  "  Name 
her,  and  I  swear  to  you  that  if  she  be  the  woman  I 
think  her  I  shall  dare  anything.'' 

Barbara  very  signilicaiitly  gave  him  her  hand. 

Count  Vladimir  was  honored  next  day  with  a  visit 
from  Florian,  who  carrie<l  a  packet  in  his  hands. 

"  Welcome,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  Count ; 
"you  are  becoming  a  model  iianre.  All  your  time 
is  so  exclusively  devoted  to  Miss  Lynch  that  you  can- 
not spare  an  afternoon  to  your  friends.  It  is  well. 
Have  all  the  skeletons  of  the  closet  laid  bare  for 
Madame's  inspection,  and  there  will  be  no  dream  of 
them  after." 

"Never  mind  those  trifles,  Count.  1  have  here 
some  serious  business  for  you.  I  can  now  prove  to 
you  that  I  am  the  only  son  of  the  missing  prince. 
Here  are  some  new  revelations." 

Vladimir  could  not  repress  the  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise that  rose  to  his  lips. 

"My  mother  died  in  September,"  said  Florian, 
"  and  made  a  confession.  She  also  delivered  to  me 
these  papers.  Now  please  examine  them  and  tell 
me  what  you  think  of  my  chances." 

The  Count  read  the  documents  slowly  and  care- 
fully, with  an  expression  of  professional  distrust  on 
his  handsome  wearied  face. 

"  They  are  very  complete,"  said  he,  "  and  I  con- 
gratulate you  on  your  advancement.  You  are  now 
a  fit  object  for  assassination." 

"  So  I  suppose  ;  but  as  I  emphatically  decline  to 
accept  either  the  title  or  Russian  citizenship,  I  hope 
that  danger  is  averted." 

"  It  would  be,"  said  the  Count  slowly,  "  if  you 


p 


236 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


li 


:i! 


i 


M\    I 


really  mean  that.  But  I  cannot  understand  you  to 
mean  that  you  will  not  attempt " 

"  I  mean  that  precisely.  I  don't  want  the  title  but 
I  am  in  need  of  half  a  million.  If  my  noble  relative 
concludes  to  buy  me  off  for  that  sum,  he  can  remain 
forever  unmolested." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  said  the  Count,  delighted,  "  you 
relieve  me.  I  shall  never  have  the  pain  of  seeing 
your  stiflFened  body  lying  in  the  morgue.  Instead  I 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  handing  you  as  much 
money  as  I  can  squeeze  out  of  the  prince.  There  is 
one  little  obstacle.  There  are  no  proofs  of  your 
father's  death,  wherefore  it  is  to  be  presumed  that 
he  is  alive." 

"  Do  not  let  that  trouble  vou.  My  father  knows 
your  Russian  methods  too  well  ever  to  bother  you. 
It  is  I  who  will  receive  the  trouble,  and  I  am  pre- 
pared for  it.  If  he  makes  his  appearance,  depend  on 
me  to  manage  him.  If  I  do  not  your  noble  employer 
will." 

"  Is  it  so  ? "  said  the  Count,  with  a  peculiar  smile. 
"  Then  consider  the  work  done." 

"1  would  advise  you,"  said  Florian,  "to  call  in 
that  agent  of  yours  and  dismiss  him.  It  is  impossi- 
ble to  say  what  harm  he  might  do  through  the  coun- 
try, looking  for  the  heir." 

"  His  Avork  is  ended.    Yon  need  not  fear  him." 

"  That  I  never  did,"  said  Florian. 

That  very  day  he  began  to  lay  his  plans  to  secure 
the  nomination  at  the  convention,  and  with  the  money 
which  he  had  acquired,  and  the  influence  he  had  w^on, 
and  his  name  rung  to  every  change  by  the  partisan 
newspapers,  his  prospects  looked  very   fair.     The 


BARBARA    WINS. 


287 


story  of  Ills  life  was  published  far  and  wide.  When 
it  became  known  that  he  had  preferred  his  Ameri- 
can citizenship  to  the  proud  birthright  of  a  Russian 
prince,  his  popularity  knew  no  bounds,  and  papers 
and  people  were  never  tired  of  calling  him  Prince 
Florian,  and  pointing  to  him  as  a  bright  example  of 
American  training  methods.  His  reliuion  was  not 
mentioned.  It  was  a  question  which  his  party  never 
could  handle  with  perfect  freedom,  and  the  opposi- 
tion never  disturbed  it  unless  for  campaign  purposes. 
The  convention  nominated  him  for  governor  amid 
universal  acclamation  :  and  if  the  means  employed 
to  obtain  this  result  were  questionable,  such  as  the 
free  use  of  money  and  the  glossing  over  of  his  relig- 
ious tenets,  they  were  not  crimes  and  did  not  dis- 
turb the  sweet  serenity  of  his  slowly  toughened  con- 
science. In  all  his  life  he  had  never  experienced 
such  a  thrill  of  delight  as  swept  through  him  on  seeing 
his  name  at  the  head  of  the  State  ticket.  It  dazed 
him  for  an  instant.  He  felt  already  under  his  hand 
the  mighty  throbbing  of  the  great  State  whose  des- 
tinies he  was  to  guide  for  twenty-four  months.  He 
would  give  a  world  for  one  continuous  draught  of  such 
a  delight. 

Frances  alone  was  silent  and  reserved.  She  made 
no  such  demonstration  as  her  mother  did,  and  was 
ever  looking  at  him  with  a  vague  alarm  in  her  face. 
She  received  her  share  of  public  attention  a' -•%  but 
it  did  not  please  her.  He  was  sufficiently  tender- 
hearted to  feel  ashamed  in  the  presence  of  the  pure 
young  girl,  and  to  wish  to  keep  out  of  her  Avay  as 
much  as  possible.  What  was  he  to  do  with  her,  now 
that  she  was  become  a  burden  to  him  ?    It  was  a 


238 


SOLITAKY    ISLAND. 


II 


.i  , 


question  he  did  not  like  to  face,  for  when  he  looked 
at  it  squarely  it  showed  him  so  much  in  the  light  of 
a  villain  tliatthe  reflection  was  unpleasant.  He  had 
no  conscience  in  the  mattei-,  hut  he  liad  a  spark  of 
something  which  is  called  honor.  During  the  course 
of  the  month  he  met  the  Count  by  a})pointment  and 
received  the  first  installment  of  his  money. 

"  After  this  it  will  come  rapidly,"  said  Vladi- 
mir ;  "  and  my  employer  desires  me  to  give  the  sin- 
cerest  thanks  to  the  young  relative  who  concludes  to 
accept  the  inevitable  for  so  lumdsome  a  price.  You 
are  always  welcome,  so  he  says,  at  the  ancestral 
hall." 

"  Much  obliged,  indeed.  I  shall  be  careful  not  to 
call,  though,  until  the  price  is  paid.  If  I  died  in- 
testate the  money  would  revert  to  tiie  Prince.  I  can 
fancy  ho  would  like  nothing  better  than  an  oppor- 
tunity to  get  it  back." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  Vladimir,  as  they  were  parting, 
"have  you  yet  any  notion  of  where  your  father 
might  be  ? " 

"  What  put  that  in  your  head  ? "  with  a  quick, 
sharp  look  into  the  Count's  yellow  face.  "  I  hope 
your  bloodhound  is  not  looking  for  him." 

"  "VVe  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him,"  he 
said  proudly.  "  It  was  mere  curiosity  that  prompted 
the  question." 

Nevertheless  the  Count's  curiosity  wakened  dor- 
mant considerations  in  Florian's  mind,  and  he 
walked  away  ill  at  ease.  His  thoughts  were  turned 
forcibly  into  a  channel  which  hitherto  they  had 
avoided.  His  father,  if  alive,  was  probably  de- 
termined to  die  with  his  history  a  secret,  yet  his 


III 


BARHAUA    AVIXS. 


239 


oxistenco  was  in  sonio  sort  a  menace  to  tliat  relative 
who  had  purchased  from  Florian  ri^^hts  which  were 
not  actually  his  to  soil.  "What  if  that  relative  had 
instituted  a  search  for  his  fatl\er.  And  what  if  ho 
should  be  found  1)V  that  Nicholas  whose  murderous 
profession  dechired  itself  in  his  face?  Fh)rian  shud- 
dered and  ])ut  tlio  thought  from  him  as  too  awful 
for  prol)al)ility ;  Init  it  seemed  so  fitting  a  climax 
for  the  defections  of  which  he  liad  been  guilty  that 
again  and  again  through  that  day  and  night  lu;  trem- 
bled with  apprehension.  Ills  faithlessness  to  Fran- 
ces, his  bad  dispositions  and  political  heresies,  loomed 
up  before  him  like  gigantic  clouds  from  whose  ijosom 
threatened  to  leap  the  thunderbolt  of  crime.  He 
was  urged  thereby  to  renew  m<  re  actively  his  search 
for  his  father,  and  to  have  Nicholas  shadowed. 
Under  these  precautions  his  mind  found  temporai-y 
rest,  but  occasionally  the  iirst  thought  presented 
itself  like  a  specter  and  wrung  his  soul  most  cruelly. 

Barbara,  on  his  next  visit,  was  absent  in  Buffalo, 
but  she  had  left  a  note  for  him  enclosing  a  telegram. 
Its  information  was  stupefying  but  welcome.  ^NFr. 
Merrion  had  died  suddenly  in  a  Buffalo  hotel,  and  his 
widow  had  gone  to  bring  the  body  home.  Fate 
clearly  was  helping  him  in  his  downward  course. 
There  remained  between  him  and  happiness  but  one 
obstacle — the  *ull  elections.  He  had  a  sublime 
American  faith  in  the  power  of  gold,  and  was  de- 
termined to  spend  his  last  cent  in  convincing  the 
people  of  the  harmlessness  of  his  faith  in  American 
politics. 

The  most  effective  attacks  which  were  made  on 
Florian  during  the  campaign  came  from  an  anony- 


I 

;li 


■i 


u 

III' 


Ml 


I;  J 


^!l 


240 


SOLITARY  ISLA:JD. 


mous  writer  in  letters  descriptive  of  his  personal 
character.  They  could  have  b  5en  written  by  no  other 
than  a  person  well  acquainted  with  him.  The  lettters 
verged  on  brilliancy,  and  gave  a  fair  account  of 
Florian's  rise  and  gradual  change  of  opinions,  with 
the  views  which  orthodox  Catholics  held  concerning 
him.     Florian  read  them  with  feelings  of  indigna- 


tion.    There  was  a  traitor  in   the 


camp, 


and  he 


thought  seriously  of  libel  suits,  until  the  failure  of 
the  letters  to  appear  quieted  him.  He  received  his 
first  hint  as  to  their  possible  author  from  Barbara. 
She  was  certain  Peter  Carter  wrote  them.  She 
could  see  his  natural  manner  in  every  line ;  and  sure 
enough,  after  critical  examination  many  evidences 
of  the  man  appeared  in  them.  "When  Florian  had 
made  complaint  to  madame,  and  she  had  accused 
Peter  of  abusing  her  hospitality,  he  admitted  the 
charge  cheerfully. 

"  I've  been  waitin'  this  many  a  year  to  put  him 
down  to  the  public  for  what  he  is,"  said  Peter,  with 
the  usual  flourish,  "  and  I'm  doin'  it.  Those  letters 
aren't  half  of  it,  either." 

Madame  glared  at  him  in  a  dangerous  way. 

"  You  may  look,  mother-in-law,"  said  he  jauntily, 
"  but  the  days  of  looks  are  over.  Ye  are  going  to 
marry  Frances,  in  spite  of  all  my  remonstrances,  to 
a  man  that's  fit  for  nothing  better  than  the  Brooklyn 
freelance.     I  told  ye  I'd  never  permit  it.    I  tell  ye 


so  agam. 


1* 


Frances  was  present  at  this  tirade,  and  felt,  with- 
out knowing  its  cause,  a  deadly  sickness  of  heart. 
She  looked  at  her  mother  inquiringly,  and  it  drove 
madame  into  a  passion. 


BARBARA   WINS. 


241 


ilv, 
to 
to 

ye 


"You  need  not  repeat  your  threats  to  .,.<..,"  she 
said,  "  but  go  and  execute  them." 

''  That  1  will  shortly,  an'  ye  can  get  ready  for  it. 
Ye're  a  queer  mother  to  allow  such  a  man  to  be 
connected  with  your  daughter — a  man  that  would 
give  the  whole  of  her  for  Barbara  Merrion's  little 
finger,  an'  will  be  apt  to  do  it  befoi-e  long,  now  she's 
a  widow.     Anyhow,  I'll  do  it  for  him " 

"  How  dare  you,"  cried  Frances,  starting  to  her 
feet,  pale  with  rage — "  how  dare  you  talk  so  of  a 
gentleman  ?     O  mamma !  why  do  you  permit  it  ? " 

"  How  dare  I  ? "  snapped  Peter  pitilessly.  "  What 
daren't  I  do?  An'  he's  a  gentleman,  is  he?  Oh  I 
he's  a  gentleman  of  the  new  school,  I  suppose.  But 
I'll  teach  him ;  an'  if  you  don't  give  him  up  of  your 
own  accord,  you  will  of  mine." 

Frances  burst  into  sobs  and  ran  out  of  the  room, 
which  sobered  Peter.  "  From  this  moment,"  said 
madame  frigidly,  although  she  was  terribly  excited, 
"  our  relations  cease.  You  must  leave  this  house* 
forever,  and  one  penny  of  your  allowance  you  will 
never  again  receive." 

"  What  a  joke !  But  the  day  of  jokes  is  over,  too. 
I'll  not  leave  the  house,  an',  by  hook  or  crook,  I'll 
have  my  allowance  to  the  last." 

"  Go,  go  !  "  cried  madame,  trembling.  "  Do  not 
urge  me  to  have  you  forcibly  rcnnoved." 

Florian  was  sitting  one  evening  in  madame's  pri- 
vate parlor.  Frances  was  engaged  with  her  needle- 
work, and  her  mother  was  nodding  over  the  pages 
of  a  magazine,  when  Peter  unceremoniously  entered. 
One  glance  at  his  face  would  show  that  he  had 
come  on  a  desperate  errand.  It  was  purple  from 
16 


,  1 


242 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


f!-^ 


Hi:  ^ 


suppressed  feeling,  and  his  eyes  were  averted.  He 
made  a  great  fuss  over  shutting  the  door.  Madame 
sat  pale  and  apprehensive,  yet  with  the  calmness  of 
a  courageous  despair.  Frances,  seeing  her  mother's 
expression,  grew  nervous,  and  Florian  shaded  his 
^»allid  face  with  his  trembling  hand.  Peter,  cough- 
ing and  strutting,  stood  before  him. 

"  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you,"  said  he  in  tones  too 
unsteady  for  coughing  to  render  iBrm,  "  and  '  like 
you  to  listen." 

Florian  bowed  in  a  cold  assent.  One  of  Peter's 
peculiarities  of  speech  was  that  in  moments  of  ex- 
citement he  lost  much  of  his  brogue. 

"  Ye  are  engaged  to  marry  this  girl  here,"  con- 
tinued Peter,  "  Well,  I  forbid  the  banns — at  3m ! — 
that  is,  the  thing  can't  go  on  without  my  apj.  roval, 
which  I  won't  give.     I  am  her  father  !  " 

Naturally,  after  this  astounding  revelation,  there 
was  an  awesome  silence,  broken  only  by  a  sob  from 
•Frances,  upon  whom  the  truth  of  his  last  declaration 
fell  crushingly. 

"  There  ! "  snapped  Peter,  turning  angrily  on  his 
wife,  "  there's  your  training.  She's  ashamed  of  her 
father." 

"  She  must  thank  her  father  for  the  feeling,"  said 
madame,  greatly  relieved  at  the  bursting  of  the 
storm  and  apprehensive  only  of  losing  Florian  for  a 
son-in-law. 

"Just  so,"  said  Peter  thoughtfully.  "You  see 
and  understand,  Mr.  Wallace,  why  I've  so  often 
threatened  you  about  this  marriage.  You  see,  I 
know  as  well  as  you  do  that  the  coming  gov^ernor  of 
this  State,  and  perhaps  the  next  president,  can  have 


BARBARA   WINS. 


248 


nothing  to  do  with  the  daughter  of  the  scribbler, 
the  dead-beat,  the  broken-down  gentleman.  I'm 
sorry  I  didn't  tell  of  it  before,  an'  so  prevent  any 
unpleasantness.  But  my  daughter  is  sensible,  if  her 
mother  has  misled  her  a  little.  She'll  give  you  back 
your  freedom,  an'  for  her  sake  you'll  pardon  the 
mother  who  deceived  you  into  an  alliance  not  at  all 
creditable  to  one  of  your  blood  and  position,  even  if 
you  made  it  willingly." 

Proud  of  his  speech  and  his  diplomacy,  Peter 
strutted  across  the  room.  He  had  effectually  silenced 
madame.  Frances  was  struggling  with  her  agony, 
and  there  was  another  silence  until  Florian,  shame- 
faced and  awkward,  spoke : 

"  This  is— a — very  peculiar— a— accident.  I  regret 
extremely  that  I  had  not  known  it  sooner.  If  you 
will  permit  me  I  shall  retire  to  consider " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Peter  briskly,  "  but  not  till 
Frances  has  sliown  the  proper  spirit  of  the  Des- 
monds. She's  not  ashamed  of  her  father,  sir,  the 
direct  descendant  of  a  noble  Irish  house,  and  will 
release  you  willingly.  Stan'  up,  girl,  and  throw 
him  back  his  pledges— that  is,  Frank,  he  couldn't 
marry  you,  you  know,  and  your  father  such  a 
villain." 

"  You  are  free,  Mr.  Wallace,"  said  she. 

"Bravo!"  shouted  Peter  to  supplement  her 
weakness,  for  Frances  was  panting  with  the  effort. 
"  Spoken  like  a  Desmond's  own  daughter." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  madame,  "  you  wrong 
Horian " 

"  Not  another  word !  "  cried  Peter  :  "  you've 
wronged  him  enough  already,  and  can't  you  see  by 


:t 


^  ^ 


f;  /  !   '  *  lis; 


244 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


his  face  he's  crazy  to  be  rid  of  us  ?  Don't  dare  to 
play  mother-in-law  any  more." 

"  You  are  entirely  free,  Mr.  Wallace,"  said  Frances 
again  and  more  calmly.  "  Under  no  circumstances 
could  I  now  think  of  a  marriage  with  you.  Please 
do  not  add  to  the  painfulness  of  this  scene  by  speak- 
ing, but  go  at  once." 

His  pride  would  not  let  him  depart  so  meanly,  and 
coming  over  to  her  side,  he  tried  vainly  to  take  her 
hand.  "  Believe  me,"  said  he  feebly,  "  no  one  more 
sincerely  regrets  these  circumstances  than  I  do.  You 
will  always  have  my  highest  esteem,  and  unless  you 
bid  me  go  I  shall  never  leave  your  side." 

Madame  would  have  strengthened  this  oflfer  with 
her  own  influence  but  for  Peter's  silent  threat  to 
demolish  her  if  she  said  a  word. 

"  Oh  I  go,  sir,  go  !  "  cried  Frances  hardly  able  to 
repress  the  anguish  of  her  heart,  which  this  hollow 
speech  increased  tenfold.  He  went  out  of  the  room 
rejoicing  and  flew  to  Barbara. 

"  There  goes  the  greatest  villain  this  side  of  the 
Atlantic,"  said  Peter,  half-triumphant,  half-disgusted. 
"  A  Russian  prince,  forsooth !  A  gentleman,  an 
American  gentleman,  bedad.  D'ye  mind,  Frances, 
how  ready  he  was  to  give  ye  up  ?  He  is  gone 
straight  to  "Widow  Merrion,  now,  to  tell  her  the 
whole  story  and  get  her  ready  for  marrying  him. 
Fm  sorry  I  let  him  off  so  easy.  He  ought  to  be 
made  pay  for  it,  and,  if  it  was  only  to  spite  him,  I'd 
like  to  see  you  married  to  him.  I'll  make  him  pay 
for  it  yet." 

"  You  had  better,"  said  madame,  "  for  your  work 
to-night  shall  cost  you  dearly.    If  you  are  not  gone 


BARBARA    WINS. 


245 


from  this  house  to-morrow  the  police  shall  remove 
you.  You  shall  have  no  further  opportunity  to  show 
your  vile  ingratitude." 

"  N  ,  no,  mamma,"  said  Frances  ;  "  we  have  suf- 
fered too  much  to  add  to  our  sufferings.  Father 
has  done  well  and  he  shall  stay  with  us  in  his  right- 
ful position.  I  am  glad  to  know  you,  father,"  she 
added,  throwing  her  arms  about  him  and  kissing 
him;  "only " 

She  broke  down  and  wept,  and  Peter  mingled  his 
tears  with  hers. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  Frances,"  said  madame  severely. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  whispered  Peter  ;  "  you'll 
get  over  it  some  time.  And  you  won't  be  ashamed 
of  your  father  hereafter.  He  was  born  and  bred  a 
gentleman,  and  his  Desmond  blood  was  as  pure  as 
milk,  when  the  Russian  stream  was  no  better  than 
a  barbarian's.  I've  saved  you,  and  I  don't  care  for 
twenty  allowances." 

"  But  I  might  have  saved  him,"  sobbed  Frances, 
"  and  now  he  is  hopelessly  lost." 


Hi 


\<Si 


■  !'.»■• 


CHAPTER  XX. 


PKINCE    FLORIAN. 


Count  Vladimir  was  at  this  moment  a  disap- 
pointed man.  Barbara  had  made  a  deeper  impres- 
sion on  him  than  he  had  deemed  possible,  and  he 
took  her  indifference  keenly.  His  vanity  had  re- 
ceived a  more  serious  wound  than  his  affections. 
How  was  it  possible  that  an  elegant  and  titled  aris- 
tocrat could  fail  in  a  quarter  so  open  to  the  influence 
of  such  qualities  as  he  possessed  ?  "Was  the  blade 
dulling  through  long  service?  He  vainly  tried  to 
account  for  Barbara's  coolness  to  him,  and  was  in- 
clined to  suspect  Florian  of  undue  interference  :  but 
his  good  sense  convinced  him  that  the  betrothed  of 
Frances  could  have  very  little  to  do  with  Barbara  at 
present. 

"Unless,"  he  thought,  bitterly,  "my  instruction 
and  example  have  made  him  a  more  consummate 
rascal  than  I  imagine." 

This  supposition  was  somewhat  wild,  however, 
and  he  continued  to  visit  Barbara  and  speculate 
drearily  on  the  matter  until  chance  revealed  to  him 
what  reasoning  and  observation  had  failed  to  dis- 
cover. He  paid  Florian  his  last  installment  of  monej' 
two  days  before  the  election,  and  at  the  same  time 
referred  innocently  but  effectively  to  the  oft-men- 
tioned existence  of  his  father. 

246 


PRINCF   FLORIAN. 


247 


"  The  prince,  my  employer,"  said  he,  "  trusts  that 
should  your  father  turn  up  you  -will  see  that  he  sub- 
mits to  the  present  arrangement." 

"  He  need  have  no  fear,"  Florian  replied  agree- 
ably. "  I  am  sure  of  my  ability  to  manage  him 
better  than  the  prince  himself." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Vladimir,  with  a  smile  whose 
meaning  pierced  Florian's  heart.  "  If  you  failed  to 
deal  Avith  him  by  your  roun(h)bout  American  meth- 
ods, Russian  simplicity  would  surely  make  an  end 
of  him.     I  warn  you  of  that  now  and  finally." 

"  I  am  glad  the  whole  matter  is  complete,"  P'lorian 
replied  indifferently.  "  It  has  been  very  trouble- 
some and  dangerous" — with  a  placid  but  meaning 
look  at  the  Count,  who  was  pleased  to  let  the  insin- 
uation pass. 

"  "Well,  our  business  relations,  dear  Prince,  are 
ended,  and  your  last  hold  upon  your  native  country 
is  cut  off.  I  wish  you  all  the  honor  and  glory  Amer- 
ica can  give  you.  Let  me  advise  you  once  more  to 
keep  a  bright  lookout  for  your  father." 

He  went  away  smiling,  as  if  he  knew  how^  those 
last  w^ords  rankled  in  Florian's  heart.  Why  did  he 
so  persistently  refer  to  the  subject  ?  Had  he  some 
new^s  of  the  lost  prince,  and  was  the  spy  still  on  the 
trail,  seeking  to  put  out  of  the  way  this  last  obstacle 
to  his  master's  security  ?  Florian  shook  like  a  leaf 
at  the  suggestion,  and,  half-maddened  at  its  possi- 
bility, sought  counsel  and  sympathy  from  Barbara. 

"  The  Count  has  seen,"  said  she,  "  that  you  are 
annoyed  by  this  idea  of  your  father  rising  specter- 
like to  demand  his  own,  and  delights  in  punishing 
you.     I  do  not  think  your  father  can  be  living.     You 


If 


/" 


248 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


have  shown  the  most  admirable  diligence  in  look- 
i,)g  for  him.  It  would  not  do  to  be  too  open  or  too 
sharp  in  the  search,  for  you  might  meet  an  impostor 
who  would  give  you  much  trouble  and  expense." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  Florian,  much  relieved. 
"  I  am  too  scrupulous." 

"  It  is  highly  probable  that  the  prince  is  dead,  or 
so  hidden,  in  fear  of  his  relatives,  that  it  is  too  great 
a  task  to  find  him.  I  do  regret  one  thing  in  the 
late  transactions  with  the  Count — that  in  renouncing 
your  rights  to  your  father's  estate  you  did  not  insert 
the  clause, '  until  all  heirs  of  the  present  family  fail.' 
I  have  an  idea  I  would  look  well  in  a  Eussian  court, 
and  I  am  so  fond  of  a  title." 

"  "When  you  reign  in  the  executive  mansion,  ma 
chere^  you  will  hold  a  more  assured  and  brilliant 
position." 

"  But  suppose  you  do  not  get  elected  ? " 

"  A  senatorship  then  aw^aits  me.  But  you  must 
not  begin  to  croak  so  soon.  If  money  and  influence 
mean  anything,  the  position  will  be  mine." 

"  But  your  religion,"  said  Barbara,  "  is  a  great 
stumbling-block." 

"  I  have  glossed  it  over  pretty  well,"  he  answered 
lightly,  "  and  my  plain  utterances  on  many  mooted 
questions  have  shut  the  mouths  of  my  enemies  tight. 
Awa}'^  with  these  dismal  speculations  !  You  relieved 
me  of  my  fears  for  my  father,  let  me  now  banish 
your  doubts  of  my  election.  This  is  love's  hour. 
Politics  and  business  too  rudely  intrude  on  it." 

"  Don't  be  foolish.  That  is  the  Count's  talk,  and 
I  hate  it." 

"  Poor  fellow  I  his  famous  to-morrow  is  almost 


PRINCE   FLOHIAN. 


249 


here.  He  has  hopes  of  you  still.  He  is  going  to  see 
you  very  soon  and  settle  matters  finally." 

"  He  had  an  idea,"  she  said  indignantly,  "  that  I 
might  fall  in  love  with  him  after  the  European  fash- 
ion. I  saw  it  from  the  first  and  resented  it.  Other- 
wise he  would  have  made  an  impression  on  me,  for 
he  was  a  most  charming  man." 

"  That  past  tense  is  a  hard  criticism  on  him,  my 
dear." 

"  There,  there,  more  of  the  Russian  foolishness." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door.  "  I  do 
not  think " 

Florian's  haughty  self-confidence  never  showed 
better  than  at  this  trying  moment.  He  released 
Barbara's  hand,  and  rose  politely  and  coolly  to  greet 
Count  Vladimir. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,"  said  the  Count  in  a  vain 
effort  for  composure. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Florian.  "  Come  in.  We  were 
just  speaking  of  you,  and  you  fit  into  the  conversa- 
tion very  well." 

"  I  am  honored,"  said  the  Count.  "  Do  you  con- 
verse as  tenderly  and  often  about  me  with  Miss 
Lynch,  your  affianced  ?  " 

"  Not  my  affianced.  Count.  That  little  romance 
is  dead." 

"  I  begin  to  comprehend,"  said  Vladimir,  strug- 
gling desperately  with  anger  and  humilation.  "  And 
am  I  to  suppose  that  the  lovely  Mrs.  Merrion  is 
soon  to  console  herself  for  her  recent  great  sorrow 
by  becoming " 

"  Precisely,"  said  Barbara,  who  had  regained  her 
usual  coolness. 


itiii 


im 


I'M 
PI 

lir 
if 


250 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


I    ( 


(    ! 


"  I  congratulate  you  both,"  said  the  Count,  whiten- 
ing to  the  lips,  "and  at  a  more  convenient  time  I 
shall  be  happy  as  a  friend  to  learn  more  of  this  ex- 
traordinary romance.     Good-aftern<jon." 

It  was  with  blinded  eyes  and  sta;^gering  gait  that 
he  found  his  way  out  of  the  nuiuision.  A  horrible 
bitterness  and  wild  rage  against  himself  and  Florian 
filled  his  heart,  and  but  for  the  shame  of  publicity 
he  would  have  raved  and  cursed  where  he  was  like 
any  madman. 

"  My  teachings  have  turned  on  myself,"  he 
muttered.  "  I  taught  him  and  he  has  gone  lower 
than  I  by  degrees.    But  wait.     Have  patience,  Vladi- 


55 


mir. 

He  rushed  into  his  own  rooms  and  gave  way  to 
the  passion  which  consumed  him.  Never  had  he 
been  so  bitterly  humiliated,  and  never  had  he  so 
poor  an  opportunity  of  revenging  himself  on  his 
enemy.  What  was  the  poor  consolation  of  a  duel 
when  he  wished  to  tear  his  rival  limb  from  limb — 
what  benefit  to  him  when  death  had  placed  his 
enemy  beyond  his  reach  ?  Oh,  if  he  could  but 
inflict  upon  him  some  maddening,  lifelong  torture, 
"When  his  rage  had  cooled  somewhat  he  noticed  a 
letter  addressed  to  him  lying  on  the  table,  and  its 
well  known  writing  made  him  seize  it  hurriedly. 
It  contained  but  one  line :  "  /  have  found  him,. 
What  am  I  to  do  f  "  A  sardonic  smile  spread  over 
his  worn  face.  He  held  a  match  to  the  letter  and 
stood  smiling  while  it  burned  to  ashes. 

"  No  answer,"  he  muttered,  "  is  a  death-warrant. 
This  is  the  first  drop  in  the  bucket." 

A  little  flame  leaped  up  from  the  paper  and 


PRINCE  FLOniAN. 


261 


scorched  his  finger.  He  started  angrily  from  tlie 
reverie  into  which  he  had  fallen,  stamped  it  under 
foot,  and  fell  to  thinking  again.  He  was  not  so 
satisfied  with  his  action  when  it  was  done.  What 
had  Florian's  father  done  to  him  that  he  should 
wish  to  murder  him  ?  A  word  from  him  at  this 
critical  moment  would  save  a  human  life,  and  he 
hesitated  to  give  it  because  he  had  been  humiliated. 
Flumiliated  !  The  word  brought  the  passion  of  anger 
on  again  with  two-fold  intensity.  lie  pictured  anew 
the  scene  he  had  just  witnessed  in  Barbara's  draw- 
ing-room, and,  foaming  at  the  mouth,  stamping  and 
blaspheming,  he  shouted,  "  Let  him  die  !  Let  him 
die,  and  his  accursed  son  with  him  !  " 

The  first  result  of  this  desperate  passion  appeared 
in  Clayburgh.  The  Squire  was  assorting  the  morn- 
ing mail,  and  he  came  across  a  New  York  postmark. 

"  Now  who  can  that  be  from  ? ''  he  said.  "  I 
don't  know  that  I  ever  saw  that  handwriting  be- 
fore." 

Ruth  suggested  that  he  should  open  it.  He  did, 
and  read  the  name  subscribed  with  a  shout. 

"  Carter,  by  all  that's  amiable  !  It's  pretty  short 
for  a  spouter  like  him  to  write  :  '  Dear  Squire  '  (just 
so ;  we're  deeply  in  love  with  each  other ),  '  I  have 
the  honor  to  announce  my  success  in  breaking  off 
the  match  betw^een  Florian  and  Frances.'  Ha  !  he's 
at  that  business  yet." 

Ruth  trembled  with  apprehension. 

" '  It's  a  clean  break,' "  the  Squire  continued  to 
read,  "  '  and  I'm  proud  of  it ;  but  I'm  sorry,  too, 
to  let  the  blackguard  off  too  easily.  The  divine 
Barbara  had  a  hand  in  the  game.     But  for  hor  I 


!    iff 


^  m 


'i 


262 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


w 

k 


hi  l 


I;  II  . 

I         ! 


an- 


(   I; 


(i     : 


don't  think  it  would  liuve  l)(>on  u  success.  Siie 
wanted  him  pretty  bad,  and  I  liear  tliey  are  going 
to  make  a  matcli  of  it.  She  lias  tight  ludd  of  him, 
anyhow,  and  a  worse  pair  never  wjdked.  So  the 
thing  is  done  at  last,  and  I've  kept  my  word  almost 
to  the  letter.  Of  course  ho  will  not  marry  your 
daughter,  but  since  he  marries  a  Clayburgh  girl  it's 
the  next  best  thing.     What  do  you  think  ? ' " 

The  Squire  said  "  um "  two  or  three  times  after 
reading  this  remarkable  bit  of  news,  and  looked  over 
it  once  or  twice  in  a  dazed  way. 

"  Ruth,"  said  he  at  last,  "  this  is  worse  than  sun- 
stroke. She  was  always  so  smart,  I  know,  and  so 
deep ;  but  I  had  an  idea  Flory  was  deeper  and 
smarter.  We  musn't  let  this  get  round  the  town ; 
it  would  ruin  the  boy's  chances  in  this  county.  Oh, 
that  smiling,  darned  Barbara !  She  turned  Catholic 
just  to  snare  him,  and  she's  got  him,  she's  got  him ; 
I  tell  you  she's  got  him  body  and  soul,  for  that's  her 
way." 

Ruth  slipped  away  sick  at  heart  and  ran  out  into 
the  open  air.  She  saw  very  cieuriy  the  meaning  of 
Florian's  new  alliance  and  his  reason  for  deserting 
Frances,  and  her  heart  was  filled  with  a  sort  of 
loathing  for  the  man  who  could  play  so  poor  and 
shabby  a  part.  Against  Barbara  her  soul  rose  up  in 
horror.  She  dared  not  think  it  her  at  all,  and  turned 
her  thoughts  upon  the  sweet,  gentl'^,  ard  pious 
woman  who  had  been  made  the  v'  j  this  un- 

scrupulous pair.    The  day,  though       u,  was  cler 
and  beautiful.     There  was  a  soft  muii.  ur  f  )m  the 
long  beach  where  she  stood,  and  the  shores  lU  about 
were  aflame  with  the  colors  of  autumn.    A  single 


PRINCE   FLOllIAN. 


253 


canoe  was  visible  on  the  bay,  and  she  recognized  as 
its  occupant  Scott,  the  solitary.  She  waved  her 
hand  to  hhn,  and  he  came  ashore. 

"I  have  news  for  vou,  Scott.  Floriau  is  to  be 
married  to  Barbara  Merrlon." 

The  hermit  looked  iinusiiallv  old  and  worn  as  he 
stood  beside  her  in  his  averted,  slouching  manner, 
and  there  were  deep  linos  of  care  or  age  on  his 
brown  face.  He  received  her  information  with  his 
ordinary  indifference. 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  said  he  quietly,  and  waited  si- 
lently for  her  to  speak  again. 

"  You  are  looking  old,"  she  ventured  to  say  in 
sympathy. 

"  I  am  old,"  he  replied  curtly,  and  started  when  a 
swallow  flew  close  to  his  face  with  a  sudden  whirr 
of  its  wings. 

"  Have  you  lost  all  interest  in  Florian  ? "  she  said, 
nettled  by  his  manner. 

"  He  has  lost  so  much  interest  in  that  part  of  him 
which  I  best  liked,"  he  answered  gently,  "that  I  can 
see  no  use  in  thinking  or  talking  about  him.  I  sup- 
pose this  woman  is  no  honor  to  him." 

"  Not  much.  He  threw  up  one  th[it  would  have 
been." 

"  So,  so — every  step  is  down.  God  help  him  and 
us  1 "  he  added,  with  a  long,  weary  sigh  that  sur- 
prised and  touched  her.  It  was  plain  to  see  that  ho 
was  suffering,  and  less  stoically  than  usual.  A  closer 
look  at  his  red  curls  showed  them  thickly  twined 
with  gray  ;  there  were  circles  around  his  keen  eyes, 
and  the  bearded  mouth  was  ti-emulous  from  hidden 
feeling.     She  longed  to  comfort  him,  and  knew  not 


Si 


I 

m 


i 


254 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


l!!^ 


how  to  begin.  It  was  a  new  and  astonishing  phase 
in  his  character  to  see  in  him  such  evidences  of  the 
weaker  man. 

"  1  thought  perhaps,"  she  said  hesitatingly,  "  that 
you  might  do  something  for  him.  He  always  thought 
so  much  of  you,  was  ever  so  willing  to  do  as  you  ad- 
vised. I  would  dare  to  say  that  in  the  beginning 
you  might  have  saved  him." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
sure  you  don't.  I  wouldn't  think  for  a  fortune  I 
hadn't  done  my  share  in  keepin'  a  man  from  evil.  I 
knew  him  well.  I  saw  there  was  no  use.  Don't 
you  think  I  would  have  tried  hard  if  there  was  ? 
You  know  I  would." 

He  was  so  vehement  that  the  astonished  Ruth 
could  hardly  believe  that  it  was  Scott  who  talked  to 
her,  but  she  dissembled  her  amazement. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  have  helped  him  if  you 
knew,  Scott.  But  people  see  farther  than  you  know 
— simple  people  I  mean.  And  he  talked  so  much  of 
you  that  we  saw,  Linda  and  I — poor  Li'ida  ! — that 
you  had  great  influence  over  him.  You  did  not  use 
it — at  least  we  thought  you  did  not.  He  spolce  with 
pain  of  your  indifference.  "N^ow  he  is  almost  lost ; 
this  last  act  hns  completed  his  ta}\.  I  do  not  think 
you  could  benefit  him  any,  yet  it  might  do  to 
try." 

"  We  are  all  fools,"  said  Scott,  with  self -bitterness. 
"  I  thought  1  did  my  best ;  you  had  better  eyes.  No, 
there  is  no  use  now  ;  but  if  you  think  it  would  do 
any  good  I  will  see  him  when  he  comes  again." 

"  Thank  you,  Scott.  He  needs  friends  now,  if  he 
ever  did  and  he  has  but  you  and  me  and  Frances." 


PRINCE   FLORIAN. 


255 


"  And  one  other — never  mind  who.  But  he  is 
driving  his  best  friends  from  him." 

He  foil  into  u  reverie,  and  they  both  stood  silent, 
with  the  plash  of  the  water  mingling  witli  tlieir 
thoughts.  The  hermit  Avas  excited  and  had  per- 
mitted his  emotion  to  be  seen ;  but,  as  if  regretful 
for  his  mistake,  the  old  reserve  began  to  settle  over 
him  again.  He  picked  up  his  paddle  suddenly  and 
entered  the  boat  without  a  word. 

"  I  shall  see  you  again  ? "  she  said,  knowing  he 
could  not  be  detained. 

"  I  s'pose — I  dunno,"  he  answered  absently,  and 
pushed  off  from  the  shore. 

She  watched  him  until  distance  hid  all  but  the 
motion  of  the  paddle  from  view,  and  felt  strangely 
depressed  in  spirit.  Billy  "Wallace  and  the  Pere 
came  to  tea  that  evening,  to  discuss  the  election  and 
quarrel  afterwards  over  their  favorite  game.  The 
night  was  boisterous  and  stormy  and  had  a  wintry 
odor  when  the  three  old  gentlemen,  under  Ruth's 
superintendence,  sat  down  in  the  cosy  parlor  to  a 
game  of  dominoes.  The  wind  was  howling  and 
there  was  a  roar  from  the  waves  on  the  beach,  while 
the  distant  lighthouses  twinkled  weakly  through 
the  thick  darkness.  But  these  evidences  of  an  ugly 
night  without  made  the  scene  within  only  the  more 
delightful,  and  the  party  prepared  to  pass  a  merry 
evening. 

"  It  would  be  just  like  some  old  grandmother  to 
take  ill, '  said  the  Squire,  "  and  call  you  away. 
There's  one  thing,  though — no  mortal  man  can  cross 
the  bay  to-night,  and  you're  safe  from  that  direction. 
It  puzzles  me  " — and  he  looked  at  Pere  Rougevin's 


256 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


]\  '  'k 


Hi 


ilt 


round,  cheerful  outline  humorously,  "  to  know  what 
there  is  in  you  that  sends  people  rushing  after  you, 
at  all  hours  and  under  all  circumstances,  to  doctor 
their  sick  souls.  Can't  a  man  die  comfortably  and 
quietly  without  you,  and  is  it  necessary  that  you  must 
shout  him  into  heaven  or  pray  him  in,  or — what  do 
you  do,  any  way  ? " 

"  Why,  papa "  Ruth  began  deprecatingly. 

"  Just  so,  girl.  It's  a  fair  question,  and  he's  goin' 
to  answer  it ;  and  you  needn't  look  daggers  at  me 
for  asking  it." 

"  He  reminds  me "  said  the  priest  smiling. 

"  Is'o,  I  don't ! "  the  Squire  roared.  "  Keep  clear 
of  your  anecdotes.  You  don't  spin  any  more  yarns 
on  me.  Why,  Ruth,  he  has  me  posted  all  over  the 
county  at  the  tail  end  of  forty  stories." 

P6re  Rougevin  was  silent  for  the  moment,  fairly 
weighed  down  by  the  force  of  Pendleton's  lungs,  and 
before  he  could  speak  there  was  a  knock  at  the  out- 
side door. 

«  There  it  is,"  said  Billv— "  the  sick  call." 

The  servant  brought  Pere  Rougevin  a  card  with 
a  few  pencil-marks  upon  it.  He  jumped  up  without 
much  ceremony  after  reading  it,  and  ran  out  into 
the  hall.  Thev  heard  a  few  hurried  remarks  from 
him  and  the  stranger,  and  immediately  he  returned, 
bringing  his  visitor  with  him.  His  face  was  quite 
pale,  but  no  one  save  Ruth  noticed  it,  for  all  eyes 
were  turned  on  the  new-comer.  The  latter  bore  a 
curious  resemblance  to  Scott,  the  hermit.  He  was 
dressed  in  the  hermit's  manner,  had  much  of  his 
silent,  stern  reserve,  and  wore  his  light  beard  in  the 
same  fashion ;   but  over  his  eyes  the  peaked  cap 


PRINCE   FLORIAN. 


257 


threw  such  a  shade  as  to  leave  his  face  a  mystery. 
He  stood  quietly  at  the  door  and  neither  removed 
his  hat  nor  took  a  chair. 

"Pendleton,"  said  the  Pere  in  some  excitement, 
"  I  have  a  bit  of  bjid  news.  Scott  has  disappeared. 
This  man  lives  near  him  and  savs  he  has  not  been 
home  since  Friday.  That  Russian  has  been  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  foul  play  is  feared." 

Only  Ruth  saw  the  revelation  that  lay  behind  his 
words  and  manner  and  she  burst  suddenlv  into  a  fit 
of  uncontrollable  sobbing.  A  thousand  insignificant 
incidents  of  the  past  ten  years  rushed  before  her 
mind. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  "  I  see  it  all  now.    It  is  terrible  1 " 

Her  father  stared. 

"  If  any  harm  has  come  to  Scott,"  said  he,  "  that's 
enough.  We'll  avenge  him.  But  what's  the  use  of 
being  frightened  ?  If  a  man  stays  from  home  three 
or  four  days  there's  no  harm  in  it.  So  dry  your 
tears." 

"  O  papa !  don't  you  see  ?  Scott  is  Florian's 
father." 

"  Yes,"  said  Pere  Rougevin  with  emotion,  "  he  is 
the  lost  prince,  and  we  fear  this  Russian  has  been 
hired  to  injure  him,  and  may  have  done  it." 

The  silence  which  transfixed  the  Squire  for  a  half 
minute  was  so  deep  that  the  ticking  of  the  clock 
sounded  like  the  strokes  of  a  hammer.  The  roar  of 
the  storm  beat  up  against  the  house.  He  sat  there 
with  his  heavy  face  void  of  expression,  his  eyes 
turned  on  the  priest  in  a  vacant  stare,  while  he  tried 
to  realize  all  that  those  astonishin*^  words  meant. 

"  Good  God ! "  were  his  first  hushed  words.  Billy 
'7 


•m 


5il 


11 


I:  El. 


ft' 
I 


I 


U.    fc 


2o8 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


could  say  nothing,  and  Kuth  was  still  sobbing.  Pdre 
Rougevin  and  the  stranger  grew  impatient  for  prac- 
tical suggestions. 

"  I'm  beat,''  said  the  Squire ;  "  but  I've  got  my 
breath  again,  I  suppose  it's  so  and  I  don't  doubt 
but  that  if  we  had  our  eyes  open  we  might  have 
known  it  before.  And  now  when  he's  most  wanted 
he's  gone,  and  that  sneak  is  after  him  and  means 
him  harm.  "Well,"  he  continued  ponderously,  rising, 
"  we'll  look  for  'em  both,  and  deal  with  'em  accord- 
ing to  law.  Young  man,  what  have  you  to  say 
about  it  ? " 

"The  islands  ought  to  be  searched,"  said  the 
stranger,  "  and  a  watch  set  on  the  waters,  so  that  if 
foul  play  has  done  away  with  him  his  body  may  be 
found." 

"  And  word  should  be  sent  immediately  to  Flo- 
rian,"  said  Ruth. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  Pendleton  remarked. 
"  To-morrow  will  be  a  busy  day  for  him,  and  he  can't 
do  any  more  than  we  can  do.'' 

"  Xot  the  slightest  need  of  sending  for  him," 
P6re  Rougevin  said  hastily.  "  It  will  be  time 
enough  to  notify  him  when  we  have  found  Scott  or 
learn  what  has  happened  to  him." 

Ruth  said  no  more  on  the  matter,  but  when  the 
Squire  had  put  on  his  great-coat  she  was  in  the  hall 
ready  to  go  with  them  and  prepared  to  put  in  action 
some  idea  of  her  own.  They  raised  no  objection  to 
her  company,  and  all  rode  up  together  to  the  village, 
where  the  Squire  began  his  search  for  a  boat  able  to 
stand  the  fury  of  a  southwest  wind.  Ruth  in  the 
meantime  had  sent  to  Florian  the  following  telegram : 


PRINCE   FLORIAN. 


259 


»» 


"  Come  at  once,  if  you  would  save  your  father's  life." 
By  the  time  she  reached  the  pier  again  Pendleton 
had  engaged  a  tug  for  the  search,  and  the  vessel  was 
getting  up  steam.  A  crowd  stood  about,  curious  to 
know  the  reasons  of  a  water-journey  on  so  tempestu- 
ous a  night;  but  the  Squire  sailed  away  with  his 
party  in  lofty  silence,  giving  only  a  hint  to  his  hungi  y 
neighbors  that  it  was  concerned  with  the  coming 
election.  Once  on  the  water  he  called  a  council  in 
the  small  cabin. 

"We're  going  this  thing  rather  blind,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  would  like  to  hear  your  opinions  and  get  a 
little  more  reason  and  certainty  into  it.  I  suppose 
we  can  search  all  the  small  islands  to-night  by  our- 
selves with  lanterns ;  but  if  we  don't  find  him  we 
must  get  help  to-morrow,  if  we  mean  to  do  the  busi- 
ness thoroughly." 

"  There  are  certain  places,"  said  the  stranger, 
"  which  Scott  frequented,  and  it  might  be  worth  the 
trouble  to  examine  them.  I  know  them  all.  But  it 
is  more  likely  that  he  avoided  them  when  pursued 
by  the  Russian.  You  must  know  that  Scott  ex- 
pected his  identity  to  be  some  day  discovered  and 
had  provided  hiding-places  among  the  islands.  The 
prmcipal  of  these  was  under  his  own  house ;  but  its 
secret  the  Russian  discovered  a  few  days  ago,  and 
he  abandoned  it.  If  he  fancies  that  the  others  are 
known  he  will  not  go  near  them." 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  Squire,  "  now  you  have  given  us 
a  fair  start,  young  man.  We  must  begin  with  his 
own  house  and  island  first,  then  take  the  others  in 
succession." 

He  went  out  to  the  pilot-house  and  the  P6re  fol- 


m 


tj-i 


;  li. 


Ill 

i4 


Ms; 


ij 


■if 


if 


i. 


IH 


260 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


lowed  him,  leaving  Ruth  and  the  stranger  alone  in 
the  cabin.  The  boat  rocked  and  plunged  uncom- 
fortably in  the  heav}'  sea  and  the  great  ^vaves  dashed 
against  the  windows.  Nothing  was  visible  outside 
save  the  twinkling  lights  on  the  shore. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  Mr.  Rossiter,"  she  said, 
giving  the  stranger  her  hand  after  a  moment's  awk- 
ward silence,  "  that  I  did  not  recognize  you  until 
you  spoke  this  evening.  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you 
and  to  see  that  you  are  well." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Paul  nervously,  and  wa-i  silent. 
Not  a  word  was  uttered  concerning  his  long  and 
mysterious  absence  from  the  world,  and  both  were 
glad  of  it,  for  the  greatness  of  the  calamity  which 
seemed  to  threaten  them  overshadoAved  minor  things 
completely.  A  sudden  quieting  of  the  waves  and 
the  rushing  of  wind  through  tree-tops  signified  that 
they  had  entered  the  tortuous  channel  leading  into 
Eel  Bay,  and  in  a  half-hour  more  they  were  sailing 
opposite  the  hermit's  cabin.  All  went  ashore  save 
Ruth,  who  felt  that  she  would  be  a  hindrance  in  the 
search,  and  so  remained  leaning  against  the  deck- 
rails,  w^atching  the  movements  of  their  lanterns  as 
they  walked  over  the  small  island.  They  returned 
to  the  boat  unsuccessful  and  steamed  to  another 
spot,  which  was  searched  with  the  same  result ;  and 
so  through  the  whole  stormy  night  they  continued 
their  vain  pursuit  of  the  lost  prince,  returning  to 
Clayburgh  by  sunrise  for  breakfast  and  additional 
help.  Ruth  did  not  accompany  them.  Overcome 
v/ith  weariness,  she  did  not  feel  equal  to  the  fatigue 
of  a  twelve  hours'  journey — Avhich  was  strictly  true, 
but  her  real  reason  for  remaining  was  the  telegram 


rillNCE   FLUIUAN. 


261 


which  Florian  sent  her  that  morning  announcing  liis 
arrival  in  Clayburgli  for  that  evening. 

It  was  a  dull,  stolid  day.  The  winds  had  died 
away,  and  the  sun  M'as  buried  in  thick  clouds  before 
it  had  been  two  hours  shining,  and  a  bitter  suspicion 
of  snow  was  in  the  cold,  heavy  air.  At  ten  it  began 
to  rain,  and  the  thick  mists  shut  out  the  river  and 
brought  a  dee])er  chill  to  tlie  atiiiosi)hcre.  Time 
hung  the  heavier  on  her  hands.  She  couhl  not  read, 
and  thought  was  distressing.  A  few  old  gossij^s 
came  in  to  hear  the  news  of  the  day  and  discover 
the  cause  of  so  much  mvsterious  runninti:  about  in 
the  quiet  town,  and  she  replied  in  dai'k  and  secret 
language,  with  many  hints  of  greater  surprises  3'^et 
in  store  for  them,  and  sent  them  away  satisfied  and 
yet  unsatisfied.  In  the  stores  and  saloons  and 
kitchens  that  day  the  Squire's  movements  Avere 
thoroughly  canvassed.  A  mystery  so  important  as 
to  require  a  tug  and  fifteen  men  to  carry  it  out  was 
a  delightful  morsel  in  dull  Xovember,  and  the  peace- 
ful citizens  enjoyed  it ;  but  when  the  telegraph  mes- 
senger passed  the  word  that  a  special  train  was  due 
in  Clayburgh  at  four  o'clock  that  afternoon,  nearly 
three  hoars  ahead  of  the  regular  train,  the  excite- 
ment spread  to  the  highest  grades  of  town  society, 
and  even  the  ministers  trotted  down  to  the  depot 
under  the  sa.  le  umbrella  to  examine  into  this  second 
wonder  of  the  day.  But  Florian  knew  his  native 
village  well.  Half  a  mile  from  the  depot  Ruth  met 
him  with  the  carriage,  and  the  train  moved  into 
the  station  without  a  soul  save  the  employees  on 
board.  So  with  every  disappointment  the  mystery 
grew. 


I 

k 

if 
Pi 


Wll 


262 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


i  ! 


A  more  wretched  man  than  Florian  Ruth  had 
never  seen,  ilis  proud  bearing  was  gone,  his  proud 
self-possession  had  melted  from  him  like  snow,  and 
his  pale,  drawn  face  and  listless  manner  showed  what 
he  was  suffering.  He  took  her  hand  gratefully  as 
he  entered  the  carriage.  She  tried  to  speak,  but  her 
own  sobs  were  too  powerful. 

"  You  need  not  tell  me,"  he  said.  "  We  are  too 
late.  I  know  that,  and  I  might  have  saved  him ;  I 
might  have  known  long  ago." 

He  repeated  the  last  words  over  and  over  like  one 
in  delirium.  When  he  had  grown  calmer  she  told 
him  all  the  circumstances  of  the  last  few  days,  be- 
ginning with  her  last  talk  with  the  hermit,  and  he 
sat  with  head  bowed,  listening,  nor  made  any  com- 
ment for  a  time. 

"  Where  were  our  eyes,"  she  said  crying, "  that  we 
did  not  see  through  this  loving  imposture  long 
since?  A  spy  could  discover  him,  and  we  could 
not." 

"  The  spy  has  exceptional  resources,"  he  answered ; 
"  and  yet  it  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have  rea- 
soned. You  remember  the  interest  he  took  in  me, 
and  I  recall  the  dreams  I  had  of  him  kissing  me, 
poor  father !  in  my  sleep ;  and  how  in  the  grave- 
yard here  one  night  he  lield  me  in  his  arms  with  his 
cheek  against  my  own ;  and  the  time  he  came  to 
New  York,  risking  so  much  for  love  of  me.  Then 
his  behavior  towards  Linda  on  her  death-bed.  I  be- 
lieve she  knew  it,  for  she  looked  from  him  to  me  so 
strangely — I  see  it  now ;  I  could  not  see  it  then. 
And  my  mother's  behavior  when  he  was  present  or 
spoken  of.    What  a  life!"  and  he  added  after  a 


PRINCE   FLORIAN. 


263 


pause,  with  a  shudder  of  horror  and  grief,  "  and 
what  a  death,  after  so  much  self-denial  and  love ! " 

"  Oh,  be  patient !  "  said  she,  attempting  cheerful- 
ness. "  They  are  searching  for  him  bravely,  and  he 
is  so  cunning  and  active  that  it  will  take  an  expert 
woodman  to  overmatch  him." 

"  His  pursuer,"  said  Florian  gloomily,  "is  by  pro- 
fession an  assassin.  He  has  but  one  instinct,  that  of 
death,  and  he  will  follow,  follow,  follow  like  abound, 
never  wearying,  never  stopping,  cunning  and  pitiless 
as  a  tiger,  until  his  victim  is  dead.  I  can  see  him 
now  crawling  through  some  lonely  patch  of  timber  in 
the  rain  with  that  white  face  of  his  shining  in  the 
gloom." 

She  had  to  admit  that  the  picture  was  not  over- 
drawn, and  thev  came  to  the  house  in  silence. 

"  I  will  not  go  in,"  he  said ;  "  I  must  get  a  boat 
and  join  in  the  search.     I  am  going  mad,  I  think." 

"  But  thei-e  is  no  wind,  Florian,  and  you  can  get 
no  tug,  for  there  is  none  here.  Better  wait  until  the 
rain  stops ;  there  Avill  be  a  wind  then  strong  enough 
to  make  the  boat  of  use.  ' 

He  held  up  his  hand  in  the  air. 

"  There  is  wind  enough,"  said  he.  "  I  could  not 
stay  ;  I  must  go." 

She  went  into  the  house  and  brought  out  some  oil 
cloths  for  him  to  put  on  as  a  protection  against 
the  rain.  With  a  servant  to  manage  the  boat  they 
started,  taking  a  course  straight  down  the  river  in 
order  to  meet  the  tug;  but  the  wind  soon  died  away 
almost  entirely  when  they  were  opposite  the  well- 
known  channel  leading  into  Eel  Bay,  and  Ruth  pro- 
posed, seeing  how   impatient  he  grew,  that   they 


m 


f.  ' 

'I. 


m 


f^"" 


264 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


jt;  ^ 


ill  I' 


would  go  to  the  hermit's  ciibiii  iiiul  wait  there  for  a 
favorable  wind.  It  was  done,  and  lor  the  first  time 
in  years  he  entered  his  father's  liouse. 

"  What  a  pahice  for  a  })rinc'('I"  lie  said,  and  a 
great  bitterness  iilled  his  heart  as  memory  after 
memory  connected  with  the  old  cabin  rose  before 
him.  Darkness  came  on,  and  the  servant  lighted 
the  old  candle,  and  the  fire  was  started  in  the  fire- 
place. He  sat  reading  Izaak  AValton  or  wandering 
uneasily  to  the  shore,  while  Ruth,  wearied,  lay  down 
to  sleep  in  the  inner  room.  The  night  passed  in  a 
dead  calm.  At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the 
clouds  parted  in  the  northwest  and  the  first  suspicion 
of  a  wind  stirred  the  water.  He  waked  her,  saying 
gently :  "  We  must  be  going."  It  was  cold  and  un- 
pleasant in  the  damp  morning  air,  but  a  few  stars 
shone  faintly  overh(3ad.  As  before,  they  went 
straight  down  the  river,  taking  the  wider  channels  in 
order  to  intei-cept  the  tug  if  she  should  be  returning. 
At  daylight  they  had  reached  Alexandria  Bay,  and 
in  the  distance  later  on,  as  the  sun  was  rising,  they 
saw  the  tug  steaming  further  down  the  river. 

"  They  have  not  found  any  trace  of  him  yet,"  said 
Ruth.  "  They  are  searching  still,  or  they  would  be 
returning." 

"Why  do  they  take  the  islands  below  instead  of 
those  above?  "  he  asked, 

"  I  believe  they  have  a  guide  on  board  who  lived 
for  some  time  with  your  father,"  she  replied,  "  and  he 
thinks  he  must  have  fled  in  that  direction.  When  I 
last  saw  him  he  was  going  down  the  river." 

They  sailed  on,  the  wind  still  cold  and  feeble  as 
before,  and  in  two  hours  had  reached  the  island. 


hi 


PRINCE    FLOIIIAN. 


265 


Florian  would  not  go  noar  the  tug  or  make  himself 
known  to  any  one,  but  went  asliore  in  liis  oil  cloths 
and  silently  joined  in  the  search,  wiiile  Ruth  sailed 
to  the  tug  for  information.  No  success  yet  and  no 
clue  !  When  she  returned  Florian  was  waiting  for 
her  on  the  shore. 

"  They  will  never  make  anything  of  this,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  too  wild  and  tliev  Avill  have  to  cover  much 
ground.  Let  us  go  back  and  search  the  islands 
above." 

To  Ruth  this  seemed  even  a  more  hopeless  task, 
but  she  did  not  feel  it  necessary  to  tell  him  so.  The 
wind  was  freshening  from  the  northwest,  and  with 
frequent  tacking — for  the  channel  in  places  was  nar- 
row— tliev  arrived  at  Solitarv  Island  a  little  after 
noon.  Un  the  Canadian  shore  stood  a  farmhouse, 
where  they  ate  dinner,  and  afterwards  the}'  hinded  at 
Grindstone  and  began  preparations  to  search  that 
island  through  its  entire  length  of  seven  miles  or 
more.  Florian  seemed  unwearied,  but  Ruth  was 
half  dead  from  fatigue.  Obstacles  of  every  sort  be- 
gan to  fall  in  their  way.  They  had  endeavored  to 
secu^'e  horses  from  an  island  resident  and  help,  which 
he  was  disp<jsed  to  give  only  for  enormous  pay, 
and  his  petty  delays  waste<l  the  precious  time  until 
half-past  three.  When  at  last  they  were  almost 
ready,  Ruth  with  beating  heart,  i)ointed  out  to  Florian 
a  canoe  with  a  single  occupant  making  for  Solitary 
Island ;  and  he,  pale  as  death,  watched  it  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  seizing  her  hand,  ran  down  to  the 
boat  and  bade  the  servant  hoist  the  sail.  II is  eves 
did  not  for  an  instant  leave  the  figure  in  the  canoe, 
and  a  flush  of  deep  excite.nent  and  tender  feeling 


if! 


If 


266 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


'i  '-fl 


spread  over  his  face  as  Scott  stopped  leisurely  from  his 
boat  and  walked  slowly  to  his  cabin.  Ho  had  taken 
the  pains  to  pull  up  his  canoe  on  the  beach,  and  after 
entering  the  house  closed  the  door.  Evidently  no 
harm  had  happened  to  him,  and  the  noise  which  had 
been  made  over  his  accidental  disappearance  was 
premature.  It  was  a  few  minutes  past  four  when 
their  boat  touched  the  shore.  Four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  of  the  first  day  of  November  was  a  mo- 
ment  which  had  scarred  Ruth's  memory  years  back 
so  badly  that  the  hour  never  struck  without  bring- 
ing the  tears  to  her  eyes.  At  that  hour  on  that  day 
Linda  died.  She  wept  now  with  a  violence  that 
surprised  Florian  as  he  helped  her  from  the  boat  and 
led  her  joyfully  to  the  cabin.  He  pushed  open  the 
door  with  some  difficulty  because  of  a  heavy  mov- 
able obstacle  on  the  other  side.  "When  he  saw  and 
recognized  the  object  he  stood  quite  still  for  a  mo- 
ment, pushed  Ruth  gently  back  and,  calmly  as  might 
be,  knelt  beside  the  fallen  form  of  his  father  and  put 
his  hand  over  the  heart.  It  was  forever  stilled. 
The  pallid  "ace  and  half-closed  eyes  were  evidence 
enough  without  the  bullet-wound  and  the  bloodstains 
on  his  garments.  Scott  was  dead.  In  his  hand  he 
held  a  small  crucifix,  and  the  tears  which  he  had 
shed  in  his  last  moments  still  lay  on  his  cheek. 


mi 


I!  I 


bt?'l 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


THE    PRINCE  8   STORY. 


It  was  a  rare  day  in  Clayburgh — rare  for  No- 
vember. The  air  had  a  golden,  fine-spun  clearness, 
and  the  blue  river  was  bluer  than  ever,  although  the 
islands,  no  longer  green,  showed  their  gray  sides 
over  the  sparkling  waters  like  faded  tombstones  in 
a  spruce  forest.  The  village  was  not  one  whit  less 
dull  than  usual,  and  villagers  shook  their  heads  over 
the  burst  of  unexpected  sunshine.  The  late  tragedy 
which  had  taken  place  had  ruffled  for  a  few  hours 
the  placid  stream  of  existence.  The  affair  was  no- 
body's business  in  particular.  There  was  no  widow, 
no  children,  no  relatives.  Scott  had  lived  and  died 
a  lonely  man,  and  the  violence  of  his  taking  off  con- 
cerned only  society  in  general  and  the  officers  of  the 
law.  Had  he  been  a  popular,  sociable  fellow  there 
might  have  been  great  excitement ;  but  it  being  a 
case  of  nobody's  funeral,  no  one  minded  it  after  the 
shock  was  over  and  all  had  been  said  about  it  that 
could  possibly  be  said.  Clayburgh  had  a  public 
calamity  to  grieve  over.  Florian  had  been  defeated ; 
his  defeat  had  hurt  it  to  the  quick.  It  could  not 
understand  the  counties  lying  to  the  south  and 
southwest.  "Were  they  ignorant  of  the  merits  of 
the  candidate,  or  had  they  been  practised  upon  by 

designing  rivals  or  office-seeking  Whigs  ?    The  dem- 

267 


fTsj. 


268 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


orrats  had  deserted  their  candidate  bv  thousands. 
The  rest  of  the  ticket  had  been  elected.  Florian 
alone,  the  pride  of  Clayburgh,  had  been  "  scratched  " 
by  his  supposed  friends  and  left  a  tot^I  ruin  upon 
the  battle-field.  What  was  the  murder  of  a  solitary, 
sour  fisherman  to  such  a  crime ! 

However,  the  villagers  did  not,  in  their  deep  grief 
for  their  candidate,  forget  neighborly  duMes  to  the 
dead.  On  the  second  day  after  Scott's  death  a  fair 
number  of  the  fathers,  in  blue  swallow-tails,  black 
chokers,  and  white  felt  hats,  made  the  pleasant 
journey  across  the  river  and  througli  the  islands 
with  a  deep  sense  of  the  fj  "or  they  were  conferring 
on  the  dead  man  in  taking  so  much  trouble  to  pay 
him  funeral  honors.  They  were  severely  taken 
aback  on  finding,  when  the  boat  landed  them  on 
Solitary  Island,  that  they  formed  a  very  respectable 
minority  of  tlie  people  there  assembled.  Boats  of 
all  kinds  lay  lalong  the  shore.  Their  owners  were 
scattered  about  the  island  in  holiday  clothes  as  fresh 
and  stylish  as  those  which  came  from  Clayburgh. 
The  old  white  hats  walked  up  to  the  cabin  with 
muttered  "  I  had  no  idees,"  and  paid  their  respects 
to  the  man  whom  living  tliey  had  rarely  presumed 
to  address.  He  lay  in  tlie  little  kitchen  which  for 
twenty  years  had  been  his  living  room.  The  brown 
habit  of  the  scapular  was  his  shroud  and  was  the 
source  of  nuich  speculation  and  wonderment.  For 
no  one  had  been  aware  that  Scott  heUl  any  religious 
opinions.  The  serene,  lueditative  face  had  a  new 
expression  which  few  had  ever  before  seen.  The 
close-fitting  cap  was  gone  and  the  bushy  whisker's 
trimmed  neatlv.     Was  this  really  the  face  of  the 


THE    PKLNCE  f>   STORY. 


269 


common  fisherman  (  Around  a  reverential  forehead, 
white  as  snow,  clustered  the  yellow  locks.  The 
regular  and  sweet  features  were  Florian's  own,  but 
less  stern,  more  exalted,  more  refined  in  their  ex- 
pression. The  people  looked  at  this  unexpected 
countenance  in  awe,  feeling  there  was  more  in  this 
man  than  they  had  fathomed. 

Izaak  Walton  was  in  its  place  on  the  table.  Can- 
dles burned  there  around  a  crucifix.  An  altar  stood 
beside  the  bedroom  d  ).n',  and  on  it  lay  the  black 
vestments  for  the  Mass.  Scott  was  after  all  a 
Catholic ;  and  while  the  neighbors  owned  to  a  senso 
of  disappointment  at  this  discovery,  they  also  ac- 
knowledged a  deeper  respect  foi'  the  character  of 
the  dead.  Beside  the  cottin  sat  Ruth  weeping,  her 
veil  down,  her  haiuls  chisped  in  prayer,  her  eyes 
rarely  turning  from  the  face  of  Linda's  father. 
Thus  had  she  sat  since  with  her  own  hands  she  had 
prepared  him  for  his  rest.  Linda's  father!  Oh  I 
wasted  years  which  had  been  spent  in  ignorance  of 
this  rich  treasure.  Now  she  knew  why  her  heart 
had  gone  out  to  him,  and  she  wept  again  and  again 
as  evei'v  memory  showed  the  fathei-'s  love  for  his 
child ron  and  his  children's  friend.  She  could  not 
uiidersi  md  it !  How  could  any  one  have  been  so 
l)lir/l  i  How  could  love  have  felt  no  thrill  from 
this  magic  presence,  when  hate  discovered  and  d(^- 
stroyed  it  (  A  rough  costume,  a  tight-fitting  cap,  a 
silent  manner  had  hidden  him  from  his  own  and  not 
from  his  enemies.  She  wrung  her  hands  and  wept 
as  this  sharp  reflection  pierced  her  heart.  But 
what  need  to  trouble  the  min'  now  Avith  conflicting 
thoughts  ?     It   was   all   ov(.'r      Tn   a  strange  land, 


ml 


^i^mHmmsmmmmKm 


270 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


among  a  strange  people,  the  exile  had  died !  In  a 
poor  hut  the  Russian  prince,  dead  and  cold,  received 
from  the  hands  of  plain  citizens  those  rites  which 
kings  would  have  been  proud  to  give !  In  a  free 
country  he  had  fallen  as  helplessly  as  in  the  land  of 
the  czars  !  Its  laws  had  been  no  protection  to  him. 
Little  he  cared  now,  indeed,  for  what  had  been  or 
for  all  his  wrongs  ;  what  he  asked  was  a  grave  and 
a  prayer  for  his  soul. 

In  the  closed  bedroom  reclined  the  lately  defeated 
candidate  for  the  chief  magistracy  of  the  State. 
His  costume  was  not  one  of  mourning,  but  such  as 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  wear,  correct  and  gentle- 
manly, with  a  smack  of  over-polish.  His  face  was 
a  trifle  pale  and  wearied.  No  evidence  of  any  deep 
disappointment  for  his  defeat  or  of  any  shock  at  the 
violent  taking  off  of  his  father  was  visible.  For  a 
man  in  his  unique  position  he  bore  himself  very 
veil.  Looking  at  the  dead  hermit,  and  saluting  him 
as  his  father  after  they  had  followed  him  to  his 
cabin,  Florian  accepted  the  hard  conditions  which 
Providence  had  placed  upon  him,  as  he  had  taught 
himself  to  accept  all  unchangeable  facts.  No  tears, 
no  excitement,  no  curious  questions,  but  a  complete 
acceptance  of  the  state  of  affairs  that  was  marvel- 
ous. There  was  a  show  of  irritation  occasionally 
against  two  persons,  Paul  and  Pere  Rougevin — so 
faint  that  only  the  latter  perceived  it,  because  ho 
suspected  its  existence.  These  tvv'o  men  had  been 
favored  with  the  hermit's  intimacy.  They  had,  as 
it  were,  supplanted  the  heir  in  his  father's  affec- 
tions, being,  as  Florian  well  knew,  better  conformed 
to  his  father's  idea  of  what  men  should  be.     Almost 


THE   PRINCE  S   STORY. 


271 


■SO 

he 
been 

as 
(Tee- 
med 

QlOSt 


d. 


mechanically  the  irritation  showed  itself.  P^re 
Rougevin  kept  himself  and  the  unconscious  Paul 
out  of  the  great  man's  way.  For  this  reason  they 
were  rarely  seen  in  the  dead  room,  whitlier  Florian 
often  came  to  gaze  quietly  on  the  prince's  face. 

It  had  been  decided  to  bury  Scott  on  the  island, 
as  he  had  often  desired,  and  to  show  no  signs  of 
mourning  which  would  lead  the  neighbors  to  suspect 
the  real  state  of  affairs.  The  grave  was  dug  among 
the  pines  on  the  highest  point  of  land  on  the  island, 
and  P6re  Rougevin  had  brought  over  the  requisites 
for  the  Mass  of  requiem.  Ruth  had  gently  hinted 
the  propriety  of  laying  the  prince  beside  Linda,  but 
prudence  forbade.  It  was  never  to  be  known  save 
to  the  few  who  this  poor  lonely  fisherman  had  been. 

Near  noon  the  crowd  assembled  in  the  room  and 
about  the  door  at  a  signal  from  the  Squire.  The 
singers  from  the  Clayburgh  choir  intoned  the  first 
notes  of  the  "  Kyrie  Eleison,"  and  the  singing  rose 
and  fell  on  the  clear  air  in  that  beautiful  solitude 
like  the  sound  of  weeping.  The  incense  floated 
through  the  door,  the  holy  water  was  sprinkled,  and 
the  tones  of  the  priest  were  heard  delivering  the 
sermon.  Then  came  the  shuffling  of  feet  and  the 
outpouring  of  the  people.  The  Squire  gathered  them 
all  before  him  in  order  to  select  the  bearers,  but  in 
reality  to  give  the  mourners  time  for  an  unobserved 
parting  with  their  dead.  It  was  done  very  quickly. 
The  P6re  and  Paul  and  Billy  looked  for  the  last 
time  on  the  handsome  face.  Ruth  kissed  the  fore- 
head with  an  involuntary  moan.  For  a  moment,  as 
the  son  pressed  his  cheek  to  his  father's,  his  features 
were  twisted  by  an  internal  anguish  more  intense 


272 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


f   Mi: 


than  physical  pain.  They  screwed  down  the  coflBn- 
lid,  and  the  bearers  entering,  a  procession  was 
formed.  Florian  offered  his  arm  to  Ruth.  To  the 
singing  of  the  psalms  they  moved  down  the  slope  in 
front  of  the  house  and  up  the  opposite  hill  Here 
was  the  grave.  All  around  were  the  islands,  with 
no  human  habitation  in  view.  Below  were  the  placid 
waters.  The  voice  of  the  priest  blessing  the  tomb 
arose :  "  Lord,  in  the  bosom  of  whose  mercy  rest 
the  souls  of  the  faithful  dead,  bless  this  grave  and 
give  it  into  Thy  angels'  charge.  Loosen  the  bonds 
of  sin  which  press  the  soul  of  him  whose  body  is 
here  buried,  that  for  ever  more  with  Thy  saints  he 
may  rejoice  in  the  possession  of  Thee,  through 
Christ  our  Lord.  Amen,"  The  clods  rattled  on 
the  coffin  with  a  sound  familiar  both  to  Ruth  and 
Florian.  Ten  years  ago  that  very  day  they  had 
buried  Linda!  The  crowd  broke  up  respectfully 
and  vet  with  relief,  and  were  not  down  to  the  shore 
when  the  laugh  followed  the  joke  and  the  healthy 
concerns  of  life  banished  the  mists  of  death.  Thank 
God,  the  world  on  this  gloon  y  day  was  not  all 
gloom !  The  white  hats  and  blue  coats  boarded  the 
Juanlta  with  hilarity,  a  fleet  of  skiffs  and  sail-boats 
fluttered  out  into  the  bay,  and  very  soon  the  island 
was  left  to  the  Squire  and  his  party. 

An  awkward  restraint  v^us  in  the  air.  The  Squire 
had  no  ono  to  praise  him  for  the  glorious  manner 
in  which  he  had  carried  out  the  programme,  and, 
warned  by  the  preoccupation  cf  the  others,  dared 
not  sound  his  own  trumpet. 

"  You'll  stop  around  for  a  few  days,  Florv,"  he 
said.     "  You  can  have  the  run  of  the  house,  and  I'll 


Nil 


THE   PRINCE  8   STORY. 


273 


take  it  upon  my  shoulders  to  keep  off  the  crowd, 
unless  you  go  to  Buck's." 

"  I  shall  stay  here  for  a  time,"  said  Florian.  They 
all  looked  at  him,  and  a  glance  from  Ruth  kept  the 
Squire  silent.  "  My  lawyer  can  attend  to  whatever 
business  there  is  in  New  York.  Let  me  thank  you 
for  your  kindness  during  these  few  days.  I  am 
deeply  grateful." 

"  I  presume,"  said  the  priest  rather  hurriedly, 
"  you  prefer  to  remain  here  until  you  return  to  New 
York  ?  "  Florian  nodded.  "  There  are  some  matters 
which  you  would  probably  like  to  be  accjuainted 
with  before  your  departure.  When  you  find  it  con- 
venient I  am  readv  to  tell  vou  all  that  I  know  con- 
cerning  your  fatlier.  Mr.  Uossiter  can  furnish  you 
with  some  facts,  perha])s " 

"  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message  from  the  prince  to 
his  son,"  said  Paul.  "  It  is  best  to  defer  its  delivery 
for  a  few  days,  however.  Whatever  I  know  about 
him  I  am  most  willing  to  tell." 

The  faintest  irritation  showed  itself  in  Florian's 
manner,  and  his  eyes  blazed  with  some  hidden  feel- 
ing which  the  IV're  alone  observed. 

"  I  thank  vou  both,"  said  Florian.  "  In  a  few 
days  I  shall  hoar  you  ;  not  now,  if  you  please — not 
now," 

"  Mr.  Rossiter,  you  are  my  guest  for  the  present," 
said  the  Pere,  "  and  you  will  accompany  us  to  the 
village.     There  is  no  need  to  delay  longer." 

The  S([uire  went  out  to  get  ready  the  yacht  in  a 
dazed  way,  for  he  could  make  nothing  of  these  ar- 
rangements. 

''  The  bov  has  loss  nonsf'tise  about  him  than  the 
18 


m 


IP 


II 


I^'f  '' 


m 


274 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


common,"  he  said  to  Billy,  "  and  it's  no  sickly  senti- 
ment that  keeps  him  here.  Who'd  think,  to  see 
him,  that  he  was  defeated  in  a  'lection  two  days  ago, 
and  lost  his  father  before  he  found  iiim  ? " 

"  I'm  glad  he's  not  my  son,"  said  Billy,  with  a 
snuffle.  "I'd  rather  have  nobody  at  my  grave, 
nobody,  than  such  a  stick.     He's  worse  than  Sara." 

The  yacht  sailed  away  and  left  Forian  sitting  on 
the  boulder  over  the  spot  where  Linda  hud  received 
the  fatal  wetting.  He  thought  of  tliat  and  of  many 
other  incidents  of  the  time.  He  felt  on  his  hot  cheek 
the  cool  breezes  of  that  first  night  on  the  island, 
when  his  dreams  awoke  him  and  sent  him  rambling 
along  the  shore.  Those  dreams  of  his  had  been  a 
wonderful  reality.  His  father  had  really  kissed  him 
in  his  sleep.  It  was  pleasant  to  recall  those  kisses. 
He  was  first  in  his  father's  heart  in  s])itp  of  his 
sternness  and  secrecy.  Then  there  was  the  night 
in  the  graveyard,  when  for  a  moment  he  lay  in  his 
arms  and  felt  his  cheek  lovingly  against  his  own. 
Accident  then,  now  the  pui'pose  was  visible.  And 
Linda  knew  it  l)efore  she  died.  Happy  Linda,  whose 
innocence  merited  such  a  reward,  and  to  whom  it 
had  not  been  given  to  know  him  first  when  death 
had  claimed  him,  ai\d  to  suspect  that — Again  that 
Hpasm  of  mental  agony  twist(»d  his  features  shape- 
less for  an  instant,  but  passed  away  beneath  iiis 
wonderful  s(>lf-poise.  "That  way  madness  lies," 
was  the  thougiit  which  shaped  its(»lf  in  his  mind. 
He  sat  tiiere  all  the  afternoon,  and  when  niglil 
came,  heedless  of  the  change,  he  walked  up  the  hi'l 
and  sat  down  on  the  grave — the  first  grave  on  Soli- 
tary Island  I     Three  days  ])assed     days  of  some  an.^- 


THE   PRINCES   STORY. 


275 


a 


iu])e- 
iiis 


liiM 


iety  to  the  friends  of  Florian.  What  was  he  doing 
on  the  island  ?  His  letters  were  sent  to  him  daily, 
and  there  were  many  of  them,  while  the  mail  sent 
back  by  him  was  voluminous  enough  to  show  that 
his  idle  hours  were  few.  Yet  Ruth  was  apprehen- 
sive. About  what  she  could  hardly  say  ;  so  with 
the  Squire  she  called  on  Pere  Rougevin  to  hear  the 
latest  news  of  Florian,  "  He  will  bo  here  within 
the  hour,"  said  the  priest.  "  I  received  a  note  from 
him  to  that  effect.  He  is  coming  to  learn  what  I 
know  of  his  father." 

"  I  am  so  glad  that — well,"  and  she  stopped 
abruptly,  "after  all,  I  do  not  know  that  he  is 
well." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  disturb  him  particularly," 
said  the  priest,  with  the  faintest  touch  of  scorn,  -which 
the  Squire  took  for  praise.  "  He  remained  on  the 
island  partly  to  investigate  the  cabin  where  his  father 
lived,  and  partly  to  enjoy  quiet  and  retirement  after 
an  arduous  campaign.  Sentiment  does  not  enter 
largely  into  Florian's  make-up." 

"  He's  too  much  of  a  Yankee  for  that,"  said  the 
admiring  Squire.  "  There's  nothing  in  this  world 
can  put  Flory  down,  unless  death.  I  just  dote  on 
that  boy." 

The  sharp  ring  of  the  door-bell  sounded  at  the 
moment. 

"  This  is  ho,"  said  the  P6re.  "  I  invite  you  both 
to  remain  and  hear  what  I  am  to  tell  about  this  so- 
called  Scott.  It  is  a  curious  histcM'V  and  contains 
nothing  that  you  may  not  know." 

"  If  Florian  does  not  object " 

"  Don't  you  fret,"  said  the  Squire,  cutting  off  Ruth's 


i 


••I 


'    -I 


tH^m 


i.'  lit! 


1 1^ 


ir 


mi 


j!    ■ 

It     . 


-     .  i- 
l'       '} 


I    I 


i.  1 


t-        1  ■    'i 

ll^ 

276 


80LITAUY    ISLAND. 


polite  remarks,  for  he  was  eager  to  stay.  "  Don't 
you  fret.  Flory  has  no  family  secrets  from  me— us, 
I  mean." 

When  Florian  entered  the  Squire  saved  any  one 
the  trouble  of  replying  to  his  grave  salutation  by  at 
once  taking  the  }X)sition  of  chairman  of  the  meeting. 
Ruth  was  satisfied  to  note  in  silence  the  changes 
which  a  few  days  had  made  in  the  politician's  face. 
It  was  paler  than  usual,  and  the  eyes  seemed  sunken 
and  weary.  The  evidences  were  that  Florian  had 
not  passed  as  quiet  a  time  at  the  island  as  the  priest 
believed,  but  in  the  hurry  and  gentle  excitement  of 
an  animated  conversation  the  paleness  and  hollow- 
ness  disappeared  to  a  great  degree. 

"  As  you  intend  to  return  to-night,''  said  P6re 
Rougevin,  by  the  way  of  preface,  "  I  suppose  you 
are  willing  to  have  me  begin  my  narration.  I  wish 
that  Miss  Ruth  and  her  father  should  hear  it,  if  you 
have  no  objections." 

Of  course  Florian  had  none,  and  tlie  Squire  was 
delighted. 

"  T  became  aware  of  the  facts  which  I  tell  to  you," 
he  said,  "  not  by  any  favor  on  your  father's  part,  but 
through  an  acciilent.  In  the  ordinary  course  of  mv 
parish  business  the  prince  found  it  necessary  to  con- 
fide in  me.  If  he  was  more  precise  in  his  account 
of  his  life  to  me  than  to  any  othei',  it  wiis  because  I 
insist(Kl  on  knowing  the  whole  story,  with  every 
shade  that  time  had  cast  u[)on  it. 

"  Y<ni  know  the  title  wiiich  belongs  to  him  and 
how  he  lost  it.  lie  was  a  Catholic  and  favored  a 
poor  relative,  of  no  jirinciple.  He  lost  his  position, 
and  almost  his  life,  through  this  relative,  who,  by 


THE    PHINCES    STOUY 


277 


intrigues  quite  possil)le  in  Russia,  convinced  the  C'zar 
tliat  his  rehitive,  your  father,  was  conspiring  against 
him.  A  friend  laid  before  tlie  unfortunate  Pr::ice 
the  state  of  affairs.  He  saw  at  once  that  nothing 
short  of  a  miracle  could  sjivo  him.  lie  was  young' 
and  practically  friendless,  for  a  Catholic  noble  of 
the  blood  royal  was  uni(|ue  and  stood  alone.  With 
his  two  children  he  hurried  into  France. 

"  The  fate  of  his  wife,  the  Princess,  was  particu- 
larly sad.  She  was  a  woman  of  mind  and  will. 
AYhen  the  Prince  spoke  of  exile  she  refused  to  leave 
her  country.  On  good  and  reasonable  grounds,  how- 
ever. Iler  family  was  i)owerful.  She  at  least  was 
safe,  and  she  was  bent  on  doing  her  utmost  to  save 
her  husband's  estates  and  name.  But  for  safety's 
sake  she  urged  the  Prince  to  depart  with  the  chil- 
dren, which  ho  did,  without  misgivings,  yet  without 
hope.  Ilis  bi'ave  wife  returned  to  the  home  of  her 
father,  made  many  effoi'ts  to  save  the  estates,  and 
gained  so  many  imjjortant  favors  from  the  emperor 
that  the  scheming  relative  saw  his  plotting  in  danger 
of  coming  to  naught.  In  her  father's  house  the 
Princess  died  suddenly,  of  ])oison. 

"  There  was  no  crime,  it  seems,  at  which  this  rel- 
ative would  stop.  The  Prince  ami  his  children — 
his  name  was  Florian,  like  your  own,  sir — shortly 
felt  the  sting  of  his  unscrupulousness.  Tracked  to 
Paris,  to  Madrid,  to  (irenoa,  to  London,  they  had 
many  narrow  escapes  from  death  at  the  hands  of  his 
agents.  The  wilds  of  America  offered  him  a  refuge, 
to  them  he  fled.  Hope  was  dead  in  him.  Hence- 
forth his  one  effort  was  to  hide  himself  and  his  chil- 
dren from  the  assassin.     He  could  not  do  it,  as  you 


i: 


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278 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


have  see.^,  but  all  that  man  could  do  he  did,  and,  if 
he  fell  himself,  probably  saved  you.  The  rest  you 
know." 

It  was  abrupt,  concise,  unsympathetic,  this  recital 
of  an  unfortunate  man's  life,  and  it  left  as  many 
points  unsettled  as  bad  been  told.  Florian,  however, 
was  prepared  with  a  bristling  array  of  questions. 
He  burned  to  discover  the  spirit  of  his  father's 
strange  life,  and  could  not  bo  content  with  these  dry 
bones. 

"  Much  of  this  information  was  contained  in  the 
letters  and  documents  held  by  Mrs.  Wallace,"  said 
Florian. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  the  priest.  "  I  never 
saw  the  letters.  Your  father  fondly  preserved  them 
as  mementoes  of  a  time  forever  gone.  Mrs.  Wallace 
removed  them  to  her  secret  closet  without  his 
permission." 

"  I  thought  my  father  of  no  religion,"  said  Flo- 
rian. "  I  had  never  seen  about  him  in  all  the  time 
that  I  knew  him  a  single  evidence  of  his  faith.  Was 
he  a " 

"  No,"  said  the  Fere,  with  a  touch  of  generous 
feeling,  "  he  was  a  fervent  Catholic,  such  a  Catholic 
as  misfortune  makes  ;  but  it  was  a  part  of  his  plan 
to  let  little  be  known  about  himself.  In  an  obscure 
village  miles  eastward  from  here  he  went  to  Mass 
and  confession." 

"  Yet  his  whole  speech  had  a  certain  coloring," 
Ruth  said  earnestly — "  a  spirituality  which  only  a 
Catholic  could  feel  and  show.  We  thought  it  was 
philosophy — backwoods  philosophy." 

"  He  was  a  great  philosopher,  too,"  said  the  Pfire. 


THE  prince's   story. 


279 


J) 


"  His  education  had  been  thorough.  He  was  a 
finished  scholar." 

"  Then  the  Izaak  Walton  was  a  blind,"  blurted  out 
the  half-indignant  Squire, "  and  his  talk  about  govern- 
ments meant  more'n  /  thought." 

"  It  was  his  deep,  and  sincere,  and  simple  piety 
that  thrilled  me  most,"  Ruth  said,  with  glownig 
eyes.  "However  else  he  deceived  us,  h.  could  not 
hide  that,  and  I  loved  him  for  it.  He  was  like  a 
child." 

"Of  that  there  is  no  doubt.  Suffering  of  the 
severest  sort  had  chastened  him  beyond  belief.  For 
one  so  tossed  about  and  so  btv.  aght  up  as  he,  his 
simplicity  was  as  sweet  as  unexpected,"  the  priest 
said  feelingly. 

To  this  compliment  Florian  gave  no  apparent 
heed. 

"  Before  Linda  died,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose,  from 
what  I  recall  of  that  time,  that  he  told  her  his 
secret." 

"  On  the  very  day  of  her  death  he  told  her.  He 
found  it  hard  to  make  her  see  the  wisdom  of  keeping 
it  a  secret  still,  from  you  at  least ;  but  with  my  aid 
he  succeeded." 

"  Poor  Linda  I  poor  child ! " 

Ruth  glanced  from  the  priest  to  the  politician  re- 
gretfully. There  was  very  little  in  the  manner  of 
either  to  warrant  a  suspicion  of  mutual  disUke,  but 
the  priest's  deliberate  mention  of  his  connection 
with  the  task  of  keeping  Linda  silent  was  a  simple 
declaration  of  war.  Passing  over  the  hermit's  visit 
to  New  York,  he  came  to  the  events  immediately 
preceding  the  late  tragedy. 


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280 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"The  letter  v  hicli  I  received  from  an  unknown 
friend  warning  me  of  the  Russian's  designs  against 
me  was  probably  penned  by  my  father  ?  " 

The  Pere  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  did  not 
know  of  the  letter,  nor  had  the  hermit  told  him  of 
it. 

"  "Was  he  apprehensive,  after  the  visit  of  the  spy, 
that  trouble  was  coming  upon  him  ?" 

"  "Well,  yes,"  said  the  priest,  slowly  ;  "  yes,  he  was. 
But  he  had  so  much  confidence  in  his  disguise  that 
he  feared  only  for  3'ou.  "When  he  heard  how  you 
arranged  the  matter  he  was  thoroughly  satisfied 
and  said,  *  ]N^ow  the  danger  is  over.'  " 

"  Did  he  have  any  occasion  to  lose  this  confidence 
afterwards  ? " 

"  Not  until  two  weeks  ago,  when  a  heavy  sadness 
disturbed  him  which  he  could  not  shake  off.  At 
that  time  he  was  not  aware  of  the  presence  of  his 
murderer.  He  must  have  discovered  it  suddenly  and 
frightfully  for  his  usual  prudence  and  sagacity  to 
have  deserted  him  at  a  critical  moment.  His  end 
is  wrapped  in  mystery,  as  was  his  life,  and  I  believe 
he  preferred  to  have  it  so." 

There  was  for  a  short  space  a  little  solemn  thinking. 

"  I  found  a  handkerchief  in  the  old  cabin  the  time 
the  Count  Behrenski  and  I  were  here  together,"  said 
Florian.     "  It  had  a  faint  monogram, '  W  ' " 

"  It  was  Mrs.  Wallace's,"  interrupted  the  priest. 
"  She  stole  to  the  island  that  night  to  warn  him  of 
the  presence  of  the  Count,  and  to  bid  him  beware  of 
meeting  your  friend." 

"  And  there  is  nothing  further  known  of  his  hid- 
den life ;  no  letters,  no  scraps,  no  familiar  insights, 


THE   prince's    STOxvY. 


281 


V 


nothing  to  show  whiit  the  man  was  under  all  his 
misfortunes,  to  make  one  feel  that  he  was — a — 
father." 

The  last  words  came  hesitatingly,  and  were  an- 
swered by  a  curt  nod  from  the  Pere. 

"  I  have  his  last  letter,"  he  replied  ;  "  it  was  v;rit- 
ten  for  vou  to  read  in  the  event  of  his  death.  And 
Paul  Rossiter  may  tell  you  things  wdiich  he  has  not 
told  to  me.     ]\[ore  than  that " 

A  shrug  of  the  shoulders  finished  the  sentence. 

"  Linda  had  some  idea  of  it,"  continued  the  P6re, 
"  and  it  made  her  very  happy  in  dying.  Perhaps  his 
old  confessor  might  be  able  to  give  you  a  glimpse  of 
his  interior  life.  I  doubt  it,  however.  It  seems  to 
have  been  a  sanctuary  into  which  angels  only  could 
enter." 

"  You  have,  then,  so  high  an  opinion  of  his  life," 
said  Ruth  gratefully.  The  Pere  bowed  and  said 
nothing  for  a  few  minutes,  but,  as  if  regretting  his 
moroseness,  he  went  on  to  say  : 

"  He  was  a  martyr  to  his  religious  convictions  of 
course.  He  could  have  easily  won  the  favor  of  his 
emperor  by  embracing  the  Greek  religion  and,  had 
he  been  a  less  tender  father,  might  have  lived  in  com- 
parative comfort.  The  fear  of  bringing  upon  his 
children  the  sufferings  he  had  endured  made  him  self- 
forgetful." 

"  If  you  will  let  me  have  the  letter  you  spoke  of," 
said  Florian,  who  had  been  indulging  in  a  reverie, 
'*  I  will  be  going.  The  hour  is  late,  and  the  island  is 
a  good  distance  off."  The  P6re  silently  handed  him 
a  package,  and  rose  as  if  to  end  a  rather  distasteful 
interview. 


282 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


il,  1 


fi'll 


f  :; 


lii: 


I  I 


i:=i„! 


"  I  hope,"  said  Ruth,  "  that  you  are  not  going  to 
bury  yourself  in  that  dreary  solitude.  Before  you 
return  to  New  York  we  would  be  hajtiiy  to  have  you 
stop  with  us  a  few  days." 

"  And  now  that  the  cold  weather  is  here,"  said  the 
Squire,  who  felt  himself  on  familiar  gi  ound  for  the 
first  time  that  evening,  "you'll  be  apt  to  stick  there 
if  the  ice  came  on  too  thin  to  bear  vc  and  too  thick 
for  a  boat.  So  you  had  better  make  r  move  double 
quick.  And  now  see  here,  Flory,  you  ain't  doing  the 
right  thing  by  the  party  and  by  yoursel  f.  You  ought 
to  be  in  New  York  making  cover  for  what  is  loft  of 
your  hay.  Your  father  was  a  good  man,  l)ut  the  best 
man  that  ever  died  wasn't  quite  worth  half  the  fuss 
made  over  him." 

riorian  received  this  lecture  as  pleasant  badinage, 
nor  did  he  make  any  reply  to  Ruth's  kindly  invita- 
tion, but,  wishing  them  all  good-night,  politely  with- 
drew and  made  his  way  across  the  rivei'  in  a  dreary 
unsettled  way,  as  if  he  had  started  for  no  place  and 
forgotten  the  harbor  he  had  left.  He  was  very  eager 
to  know  something  of  the  real  life  of  his  father,  and 
somewhat  bitter  at  finding  himself  left  out  so  regu- 
larly in  the  cold.  This  one  knew  and  that  one  knew 
some  trait  or  incident  of  the  hermit,  and  Linda  had 
received  a  full  measure  of  knowledge  at  the  last  mo- 
ment. He  alone  knew  nothing.  His  thirst — and  it 
increased  every  day — was  always  unsatisfied.  His 
father  spoke  to  him  only  through  the  cold,  unsym- 
pathetic channels  of  dead  letters  or  of  outsiders  who 
cared  little  for  him.  It  was  a  hard  condition.  He 
accepted  it  in  his  usual  matter-of-fact  way,  but  it  hurt 
him  nevertheless. 


THE   prince's   story. 


288 


When  the  iskind  was  reached  and  the  door  closed 
on  all  the  workl — on  all  his  care  and  disappointments, 
on  all  his  ambitions — he  pulled  the  curtains  over  the 
window,  replenished  the  fire,  and  with  Izaak  "Walton 
at  his  elbow  sat  down  to  read  his  father's  last  com- 
munication to  him.  Just  as  his  father  had  sat  often 
(luring  the  nights  of  thirty  years  ?  The  old  charm 
of  the  place  was  not  yet  lost  to  him ;  it  increased 
rather  because  of  its  pathetic  associations.  Here  he 
had  slept  and  dreamed  that  his  father  kissed  liim  ; 
here  the  hermit  had  made  a  last  attempt  to  keep  him 
in  Clay  burgh ;  here  he  had  tried  to  discover,  with- 
out much  if  any  help  from  G  ,  what  his  vocation  in 
life  might  be.  The  warning  which  the  Prince  had 
given  him  still  haunted  his  memory,  but  he  had  not 
gotten  over  his  old  skepticism  on  that  point  and  re- 
called it  ,vith  a  smile.  By  the  light  of  the  old  tallow 
candle  he  opened  his  father's  letter  and  read  reveren- 
tially : 


i 


"  My  son,  my  most  dear  son  :  I  have  little  time  to 
speak  to  you.  I  fear,  I  >-  m  sure,  our  enemy  is  on  my 
track.  I  thought  you  had  forever  averted  the  dan- 
ger. It  is  not  so.  These  people  will  not  be  satisfied 
until  they  have  killed  me.  God's  will  be  donel 
When  you  read  this  I  shall  be  dead.  Much  obscurity 
hangs  over  m}'^  life.  It  will  never  be  removed  in  this 
world.  It  will  pain  you,  but  it  was  ordered  so  for 
your  good.  Believe  me,  your  father,  every  moment 
of  my  life  was  a  study  to  save  you  from  what  will 
befall  me,  every  word  that  I  have  said  to  you  dic- 
tated by  the  strongest  love.  Be  content  with  what 
you  may  learn  of  me  from  strangers.    I  give  you 


284 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


my  love  and  bid  you  adieu.  I  return  to  you,  accord- 
ing to  promise,  a  A7ell-kno\vn  document.  My  most 
dear  son,  a  stranger  to  me  all  my  life,  your  father 
hopes  and  prays  to  meet  you  in  heaven. 

"  Florian." 


;:« 


He  read  it  over  three,  four,  ton  times,  Avith  a  more 
vivid  picture  each  time  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  was  written,  until  the  long  suffering  of  his 
father's  life  and  the  a^onv  of  that  farewell  was  tear- 
ing  his  own  heart,  until  sobs  and  tears  came  to  show 
him  that  he  was  no  more,  after  all,  than  a  son  of 
man.  He  felt  humiliated,  but  onlv  before  himself. 
In  these  moments  of  meditation  that  peculiar  twist- 
ing of  the  features  took  place  which  had  been  noticed 
during  the  funeral,  as  if  his  very  vitals  had  been 
seized  by  the  grasp  of  intolerable  pain.  "With  his 
strong  will  he  reasoned  its  cause  down,  but  still  the 
shadow  haunted  him  night  and  day. 


U'^^^ 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


u 


BAKBAKA  8    SPITE. 

After  a  defeat  the  vanquished  naturally  hides  his 
head  for  a  short  time.  This  reflection  did  not  at  all 
soothe  the  anxiety  of  Barbara  over  Florian's  absence. 
Twenty  times  a  day  she  tried  to  read  between  the 
lines  of  the  passionate  letters  from  Clay  burgh,  and 
because  she  found  nothing  her  anxieties  increased 
tenfold.  Ruth  was  there,  and  who  could  tell  what 
would  happen  ?  He  hiul  deserted  one  woman.  Such 
a  man  was  not  to  be  trusted ;  and  if  the  old  love 
were  still  stronfi:  after  ten  vears'  of  absence  from  its 
object,  what  would  it  not  be  in  her  presence,  what 
might  it  not  dare  if  Ruth  said,  I  am  willing  ?  Finally 
Barbara  packed  her  trunk  and  started  for  Clay  burgh 
to  pay  her  old  friend  a  visit.  She  was  a  little  fear- 
ful of  the  effect  of  her  appearance  upon  Florian,  but 
trusted  to  luck  and  her  owa  charms  to  allay  his 
anger. 

The  sight  of  her  stepping  from  the  train  sent  a 
cold  chill  along  the  Squire's  spine,  and  Ruth's  first 
glimpse  of  her  coming  up  the  v/alk  to  the  house  pro- 
duced a  serious  misgiving  in  that  lady's  heart.  She 
was  going  to  stay  with  them,  of  course.  The  city 
was  so  dull  that  she  could  no  longer  endure  it,  and  it 
was  so  long  since  she  had  been  to  Clayburgh.     While 

she  was  removing  her  bonnet  and  preparing  to  make 

385 


If 


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hi  i 


286 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


herself  comfortable  the  Squire  found  opportunity  to 
whisper  to  Euth : 

"  Not  one  word  about  Flory.  Thafs  who  she's 
after." 

"Barbery,"  said  he  solemnly,  as  he  sat  down 
before  her,  "  don't  you  attempt  to  tell  me  you  came 
all  the  way  from  Xew  York  jest  to  see  your  old 
friends.  You  don't  care  two  coppers  for  us.  You've 
got  an  object  in  coming  here,  and  I  want  to  know 
it.  Because  if  you're  after  me  I  may  as  well  give 
in  at  once  and  save  the  trouble  of  a  long  courtship. 
If  you're  not,  then  I  can  rest  satisfied  and  you  can 
stay  here  as  long  as  you  wish  too." 

"The  vanity  of  an  old  fellow,"  said  Barbara. 
"  Now  what  could  I  possibly  want  with  an  antique 
like  you  ? " 

"  An  antique  ! "  said  the  Squire,  dazed.  "  Ruth, 
can  you  sit  by  and  hear  your  father  called  an  antique 
by  a  mere  strip  of  a  widow  ?  If  you  can  you  have  no 
more  notion  of  your  duty  than  any  other  woman." 

"Well,  papa,  you  are  the  sheriff — put  Barbara 
in  jail." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  he  gloomily.  "  She's  not 
safe  even  in  jail,  though :  she'd  bewitch  the  jailer, 
the  chief  of  police,  lawyers,  judge.  There  ain't 
nothing,  in  fact,  to  hold  her.  Barbery,  speak  right 
out.    Are  you  after  me  ? " 

And  the  Squire  groaned  in  mock  anguish  of  spirit. 

"  No,  I'm  not  after  you,  you  poor  man :  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  you,  except  to  eat  your  dinners 
and  make  myself  expensive  and  troublesome  for  a 
few  days." 

"  The  hull  house  is  yours,  ray  girl,  and  all  that's  in 


BARBARA  S   SPITE. 


287 


it.  If  you  say  the  word  you  can  have  any  man  in 
the  town  that  you're  fishing  for  brought  right  here 
into  the  parlor,  and  I'll  help  you  do  the  courting.  I 
will,  by  Jupiter !  "  shouted  the  Squire,  joyfully. 

"  Thank  you  ;  but  I  am  engaged  already.  Squire." 

"  Jes'  so,"  said  Pendleton  dubiously  ;  "  but  you're 
not  safe,  engaged  or  married." 

Sitting  quietly  in  the  parlor  after  dinner  she  flung 
down  her  gage  of  battle  to  them  with  disconcerting* 
suddenness. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  both  aware  of  the  object  of 
ray  visit  here,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  Barbery,"  said  the  Squire  coolly,  "  Flory's 
high  game,  and  I  don't  blame  you,  but  you'll  never 
get  him ;  mark  my  words — you'll  never  get  him." 

"  You  know  where  he's  hiding.  Why  do  you  not 
tell  me  what  I  want  to  know  ? " 

"  'Tisn't  fair,  my  dear.  Flory  must  have  a  show," 
the  Squire  said  with  much  gravity  ;  "  and  as  he's 
somewhat  cast  down  now,  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  you 
go  cooing  around  him.  You'd  have  him  married  to 
you  in  a  wink.  Your  cooing  doesn't  suit  as  well 
after  marriage  as  before,  and  I'm  going  to  save  him 
from  you,  if  I  can." 

"  You  might  as  well  know,"  she  said,  with  height- 
ened color,  "  that  I  am  Florian's  promised  wife. 
Will  you  tell  me  where  he  is  ? " 

"  If  you're  engaged  to  him,"  the  Squire  remarked 
wickedly,  *'  you  ought  to  know  where  he  is." 

"  I  have  a  batch  of  letters  which  he  has  written 
to  me  every  day  since  he  came  here,  and  I  know 
that  he  is  here,  and  that  is  all." 

"  You'll  have  to  find  him  yourself,  then,"  raid  the 


288 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


tl. 


■i:  ■ 


ii\'^  i 


Squire  ;  "  and,  as  we  don't  care  to  mix  ourselves  up 
in  your  doings,  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  going  to 
stay  with  your  friends  in  the  town." 

"  I  ha  '^e  already  decided  on  that,  you  funny  old 
man,  for  it  would  be  too  much  to  accept  of  your 
hospitality  farther." 

Ruth  rose  and  left  the  room  without  a  word,  hurt 
beyond  measure  at  the  vulgarity  of  Barbara's  char- 
acter. That  it  was  light  and  insincere  she  well 
knew,  but  she  had  always  given  her  credit  for  a 
certain  refinement  and  natural  pride  sufficiently 
strong  to  prevent  such  behavior  as  she  had  just 
shown.  It  was  bitter  for  her  to  recall  that  she  had 
confided  the  tenderest  secret  of  her  heart  to  this 
woman,  and  that  nothing  might  hinder  her  from 
publishing  it  to  the  world.  Barbara  looked  after  her 
with  light  scorn,  and  the  expression  in  her  face  stung 
the  Squire  into  a  rage. 

"  You've  done  enough  for  one  day,"  he  said,  pur- 
pling, "  to  give  you  a  chance  at  a  ten  years'  penance. 
That  good  girl  sees  what  you  are  to  the  core,  and  if 
she  doesn't  make  it  known  I  will." 

"  That  go»>(l  girl !  "  said  Barbara,  with  a  sneering 
laugh.  "  She  was  always  so  good !  Yet  she  en- 
couraged Florian  into  ofl'ering  her  marriage,  and 
then  threw  him  off.  She  went  to  a  convent  in  a 
streak  of  gushing  piety,  and  when  the  gush  stopped 
came  running  down  to  New  York  after  a  little  poet 
upon  whom  her  heart  was  set,  and,  if  she  had  found 
him  would  have  proposed  to  him  and  married  him. 
That  modest  girl  indeed ! " 

"With  this  shot  Barabara  transferred  her  effects 
and  herself  to  the  hotel  in  much  distress  of  mind. 


BARBARA  S   SPITE. 


289 


She  had  gotten  herself  into  a  difficulty,  and  saw  no 
easy  way  of  escape  as  long  as  she  held  to  her  deter- 
mination to  discover  Florian.  To  it  she  was  bound  to 
hold  in  spite  of  fate,  confident  that  her  old  luck 
would  not  desert  her.  But  matters  had  a  gloomy 
look,  and  her  orders  to  the  landlord  that  she  be 
taken  to  the  depot  for  the  night  train  was  a  sort  of 
submission  to  fate  which  miglit  not  come  amiss  later. 
Sitting  in  the  shabby  hotel  pai'lor,  idly  touching  the 
keys  of  the  consumptive  piano,  to  her  entered  Paul 
Kossiter.  He  was  not  aware  of  her  presence.  A 
glad  sparkle  lit  up  her  eyes  at  sight  of  him.  Here 
was  a  chance  to  attain  her  object,  here  was  an  op- 
portunity to  stab  Kuth  Pendleton  to  the  heart. 

"  Mr.  Kossiter — O  Mr.  Eossiter !  is  it  really 
you  ? " 

"  It  is,  Mrs.  Merrion  and  I  am  delighted  to  meet 
you." 

"  And  where  is  Florian — Mr.  "Wallace  ?  "Why  are 
you  in  the  same  town  and  not  together !  " 

"  I  suppose  he  is  loafing  on  his  island  still,"  said 
the  thoughtless  poet.  "  He  spends  most  of  his  time 
there  and  rarely  comes  to  the  village.  And  may  I 
ask  what  fate  has  cast  you  at  this  unhappy  season 
on  the  shores  of  the  St.  Lawrence  ? " 

**  My  native  place  receives  me  at  any  time." 

"  Ah !  your  native  place  !  " 

"You,  I  suppose,  are  soon  to  make  your  home 
here?" 

"  I  return  to  New  York  in  a  week,  Mrs.  Merrion." 

"  Where  you  are  hopelessly  unknown  by  this  time, 
as  most  people  think  you  have  drowned  yourself. 
And  is  Euth  to  go  w^ith  you  ?  " 
19 


290 


SOLITAKV    ISLAND. 


'  ' 


i  ! 


"  Ruth  !  "  stammered  tlie  poet.  "  Do  you  mean" 
Miss  Pendleton  i  I  have  not  acUlressed  her  twice 
since  I  came  to  tlie  town.  For  a  U)ng  time  I  was 
not  aware  she  liad  left  her  convent." 

"  And  yet  she  left  the  convent  for  your  sake." 
He  Hushed  a  little,  ignorant  as  he  was  of  the  motive 
of  her  boldness.  Slie  had,  as  she  thought,  an  oppor- 
tunity for  belittling  Ruth,  and  if  tlie  i)oet  could  not 
suspect  it  he  could  feel  an  uneasiness  at  her  frank 
communications. 

"  Do  vou  I'cmember  a  bit  of  bristol-board,"  she 
continued,  "  scribbled  upon  by  you  in  the  convent- 
grounds  last  year  ? " 

He  did  remember  something  of  the  sort . 

*'  It  was  found  and  given  to  Ruth.  Romantic, 
wasn't  it  ?  Thev  could  no  longer  hold  her  in  the 
convent.  '  She  went  by  hill,  she.  went  by  dale,' 
until  she  came  to  me  in  the  city,  showed  me  the  card, 
and  implored  me  to  aid  her  in  finding  you.  "When 
you  were  not  to  be  found  she  was  nearly  frantic, 
and  fled  to  the  seclusion  of  Clayburgh  to  hide  her 
grief.  "Worse  than  a  convent,  isn't  it  ?  And  I 
thought  you  had  settled  the  matter,  and  would  take 
Ruth  with  you  to  the  city !  "Well,  there's  bashf ul- 
ness  for  3'ou  !  And  so,  Flo — Mr.  "Wallace  is  on  the 
island.     "Which  island,  I'd  like  to  know  ? " 

"  Solitary  Island  I  think  they  call  it,"  said  Paul, 
absently,  his  whole  body  hot  with  mingled  feelings 
of  shame  and  delight.  But  he  added,  "  I  have  heard 
that  he  returns  to  New  York  in  the  morning." 

"  Thank  heaven,"  murmured  Barbara,  ""  I  shall  be 
there  ahead  of  him." 

Paul  went  out  into  the  open  air  in  a  daze  of  happi- 


BARBARA  S   Hi'lTK. 


291 


ness, — Ivuth  loved  liiiii ;  his  fate  was  no  longer  un- 
certain, l)ut  he  was  sorry  that  her  tender  secret  had 
found  a  resting-place  la  Barl)ara\s  boson.  lie  could 
not  see  the  motives  of  the  hitter's  coarse  revelation 
of  it  to  him.  IIo  was  sure,  however,  that  malice 
prompted  both  the  coarseness  and  the  revelation, 
and  he  had  a  dim  suspicion  that  something  might 
have  happened  since  Barbara's  arrival  in  town  to 
bring  it  to  pass.  Perhaps  Ruth  Icnew  and  dreaded 
that  Barbara  would  do  something  of  the  kind.  How 
could  she  ever  look  in  his  face  again,  suspecting 
that  Barbara  had  so  ; .,  'dessly  exposed  her  ?  The 
more  the  poet  looked  at  lie  matter  the  stronger  his 
suspicions  grew,  and  alongside  theni  grew  the  de- 
termination to  leaT  Jlay burgh  Jiat  night  as  quietly 
as  he  had  entered  it  nK.nlhs  before.  Ruth  w^ould 
then  feei  easier.  In  time  he  could  come  himself  to 
press  the  suit  in  which  he  had  altogether  despaired ; 
and  if  it  was  hard  to  forbear  flvinT"  to  her  then  and 
soliciting  a  surrender  of  the  secret  which  rightfully 
belonged  to  him,  its  compensation  was  that  the 
delicacy  of  his  wife-to-be  would  not  be  so  cruelly  in- 
jured. She  loved  him  and  had  sought  for  him  and 
was  grieved  at  his  absence.  He  did  not  want  more ; 
but  he  walked  near  tlio  house  just  alter  twilight, 
and  saw  her  sitting  at  one  side  of  the  parlor  table, 
with  the  Squire  at  the  other,  her  calm,  peaceful 
face  as  sweet  in  its  repose  as  if  the  nim's  veil  hung 
about  it. 

Barbara  was  on  the  train  with  him  that  night, 
but  he  discreetly  kept  out  of  her  way.  He  had  yet 
to  learn  of  her  engagement  to  Florian,  of  the  in- 
jury done  to  Frances  by  the  hermit's  proud  son. 


i 


292 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


The  Ftory  would  have  spoiled  his  journey.  He  had 
some  respect  still  for  Florian,  enough  to  pity  him. 
Very  little  the  great  man  cared  either  for  his  pity 
or  his  respect. 

In  the  whirlpool  of  city  life  again  !  Paul  realized 
it  with  a  sense  of  delight  as  unexpected  as  it  was 
pleasant ;  for  he  had  never  a  great  love  towards  the 
metropolis,  and  his  many  sorrrows  there  had  em- 
bittered him  against  it  forever.  Not  quite  forever, 
as  he  now  felt.  He  had  the  secret  of  his  misfortunes 
in  his  grasp,  and  nevermore  could  Russian  spies  go 
about  whispering  slanders  and  bribing  the  managers 
of  theaters  because  of  his  likeness  to  the  Prince  of 
Cracow.  There  was  a  fair  field  before  him.  A  few 
months'  absence  had  banished  the  mists  that  once 
hung  round  him.  One  manager  was  glad  to  have 
him  back,  and  another,  and  a  third.  In  fact,  a  few 
calls  in  the  course  of  the  day  filled  the  poet  with  in- 
ordinate vanity. 

Peter  Carter  received  him  in  a  commonplace  attic 
with  tears  and  embraces,  and  spent  a  luxurious  hour 
describing  the  perfidy  of  Florian,  tlie  woes  of  Fran- 
ces, and  the  cruelt}'^  of  madame,  who  had  driven  him 
forth  into  the  Avorld  without  mercy  and  without  al- 
lowance. He  drank  too  much,  or  perhaps  too  fast 
for  perfect  and  easy  narration,  and  fell  to  snoring 
before  all  the  details, — worthy  indeed  of  his  fame 
— were  given  to  Rossiter.  The  poet  marveled  greatly 
at  the  antics  the  city  had  played  during  his  brief 
absence,  and  went  to  hi  ^,  old  quarters  with  some  haste 
and  anxiety. 

Madame  De  Ponsonby  Lynch  gave  him  a  gener- 
ous  welcome.      She   was   still    madame,  reserved, 


Barbara's  spite. 


293 


exclusive,  and  good-hearted,  and  very  handsomely 
apologized  for  her  treatment  of  him ;  nor  did  the 
faintest  trace  of  feeling  appear  on  her  smooth  face 
at  mention  of  an  incident  which  brought  her  exiled 
lord  to  her  mind.  Frances,  she  said,  was  probably 
about  the  house  somewhere — most  likely  in  the 
famous  attic  which  he  had  so  queerly  deserted — and 
she  begged  him  not  to  be  surprised  at  anything  in 
the  young  lady's  manner  or  a})pearance  for  she  had 
lately  met  with  a  severe  disappointment.  The  dis- 
appointment he  had  probably  heard  of,  since  it  was, 
in  a  quiet  way,  the  talk  of  metropolitan  society. 
The  poet,  after  engaging  his  old  attic,  climbed  the 
stairs  to  look  for  Frances.  There  was  a  burning  in- 
dignation in  his  breast  against  the  heartlessness  of 
the  man  who  could  inflict  so  cruel  an  insult  on  a 
woman  so  gentle  and  good  as  his  promised  wife. 

She  came  to  the  door  in  answer  to  his  knock,  and 
for  a  few  seconds  there  was  a  hush  of  astonishment 
as  the  two  met  face  to  face.  "  Mr.  llossiter,  or  liis 
ghost !  '  she  exclaimed. 

"  And  the  substantial  Miss  Lvnch,"  said  he,  offer- 
ing  his  hand.  "  I  liav<^  engaged  the  garret  for  a  long 
term,  and  am  not  likely  to  lose  it  by  any  more  mis- 
understandings.*' 

"  How  can  I  ever " 

"  Your  mother  has  done  it ;  don't  say  a  word." 

"  And  my  poor  father,  that  made  all  tlie  disturb- 
ance  " 

"  I  just  came  from  him,"  said  Paul,  smiling,  "  so 
do  not  let  b^'^gones  trouble  you.  I  know  you  have 
enough  of  unhappiness." 

Her  lip  trembled  and  she  could  not  trust  herself 


W 


:iii 


294 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


to  speak.  While  talking  the  poet  took  a  quick  in- 
ventory of  the  changes  sorrow  had  made  in  her. 
She  was  still  the  gentle,  sprightly  girl  of  a  year  past, 
but  his  eye  noted  the  trembling  lip,  the  melancholy 
shadows  around  the  mouth  and  eyes,  and  the  ner- 
vousness of  her  manner. 

"  1  have  seen  him  so  late  as  yesterday,"  Paul  said, 
"  and  I  thought  you  ought  to  know.  There  have 
been  so  many  strange  things  happening  in  his  life. 
I  was  in  Clayburgh,  and  he  was  there.  He  discov- 
ered his  father  in  the  person  of  an  old  fisherman 
that  he  had  known  for  years.  Think  of  it — a  prince 
of  royal  blood,  with  a  Yankee  dialect  and  a  Yankee 
look,  leading  a  solitary  life  on  an  island  of  the 
St.  Lawrence ! " 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  said  Frances ;  "  his  happiness  will 
now  be  complete." 

"  I  suppose,"  the  poet  said  cynically,  but  recol- 
lected himself  in  time.  "  Alas !  Frank,  there  never 
was  a  more  unhappy  meeting  of  father  and  son. 
The  father  was  dead,  shot  fatally  by  a  sneaking 
assassin,  and  it  was  only  a  corpse  which  death  handed 
to  Florian." 

"  Oh !  "  she  murmured,  with  clasped  hands,  and 
the  tears  began  to  fall. 

"  I  think  it  was  a  punishment  on  him,"  said  Paul 
calmly.  "  No,  don't  look  at  me  so.  "We  only  buried 
the  Prince  two  weeks  ago,  and  in  telling  you  all 
about  him  I  must  say  some  hard  things  of  Florian. 
You  know  I  met  Florian's  father  by  a  mere  accident. 
He  took  me  into  his  cabin,  make  a  favorite  of  me, 
and  let  in  some  light  not  only  on  his  own  life  but  on 
mine.     Florian  was  unworthy  of  him.    He  deserved 


BARBARA'S   SPITE. 


295 


to  lose  him,  and  to  lose  biiii  as  he  did,  for  he  died  as 
much  from  a  broken  heart  as  from  a  bullet- wound. 
I  wanted  Florian  to  know  that,  but  he  suspected  me 
and  kept  away." 

"  Paul,- '  said  she,  through  her  sympathetic  tears, 
"  what  has  he  ever  done  to  you  that  you  should  talk 
of  him  so?" 

"  Nothing  more  than  he  has  done  to  an}'  true  man 
in  his  treatment  of  you.  God  sent  him  one  punish- 
ment, and  he  got  no  sense  or  grace  from  it.  I  doubt 
very  mucli  if  he  will  gain  anything  fi-om  another. 
So  vou  all  thought  I  had  committed  suicide  (  " 

That  remark  brought  the  smiles  to  her  face. 

"  Well,  you  know  what  a  despairing  poet  is  apt  to 
do,"  she  replied.  "  But  we  hopeil  you  had  merely 
changed  your  residence.  Let  me  ask  you,  did  you 
meet  in  Clayburgh  that  lovely  Ruth  Peiulleton  i " 

It  was  more  than  the  poet  could  do  to  keep  the 
blood  from  his  fair  face.  It  rose  to  his  collar,  over 
it,  to  his  ears,  to  his  eyes,  to  the  roots  of  his  hair, 
nor  could  his  glib  chatter  hide  it  from  her  eyes. 


Mi 


\M 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 


TERRIBLE   TRUTH. 


'  "I 


Florian  resumed  professional  labors  with  a  zest 
somewhat  keen  after  his  long  confinement  on  Soli- 
tary Island.  It  had  been  a  trying  time  for  him,  but 
he  had  come  out  of  those  hard  circumstances  a 
victor.  They  had  left  little  trace  on  him,  and  he 
had  put  the  incident  of  his  father's  death  out  of  his 
life  as  thoroughly  as  the  death  of  his  sister,  the  loss 
of  Ruth,  and  the  late  election.  Life's  busy  round 
was  gone  over  as  evenly  and  as  hopefully  as  if  these 
tragedies  had  never  been.  Yet  he  could  not  deny 
that  his  real  self  had  been  held  up  to  him  in  the 
quiet  of  his  late  retreat  more  minutely  than  at  any 
time  in  the  last  ten  vears.  He  had  even  come  close 
to  admitting  the  truth  of  the  portrait  which  nature's 
mirror  presented  to  him.  But  it  was  a  little  too 
ghastly  for  truth,  he  thought,  and  he  put  off  an 
inspection  of  it  until  such  time  as  his  discerning 
mind  had  recovered  its  nice  balance.  When  that 
time  came  he  had  forgotten  it.  He  had  to  admit  to 
himself  that  these  sad  events  threw  a  shadow  long 
enough  to  reach  the  pleasantest  of  his  days.  They 
were  shelved,  indeed,  but  not  annihilated.  He  was 
human  after  all,  he  said,  when  a  protracted  period 
of  restlessness  troubled  him.    With  another  man  it 

would  have  been  the  "  blues  "  or  lonesomeness ;  with 

296 


TERRIBLE  TRUTH. 


297 


him  it  was  an  indigestion,  or  a  phenomenon  in- 
dependent of  the  will.  He  bore  it  as  he  bore  a 
rainy  day  or  a  vexatious  laAvsuit.  There  would  be 
an  end  to  it  some  time.  A  calm,  steady  glance  on 
the  road  ahead  was  enough  to  neutralize  the  effect  of 
depression. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  he  had  a  habit  of  dream- 
ing in  daylight.  In  studying  a  political  or  legal 
problem  he  occasionally  wandered  into  unpractical 
speculations  on  the  incidents  or  personages  of  a  suit. 
Not  often.  Nowadays  he  fell  into  a  habit  of  re- 
viewing events  connected  with  his  father's  mourn- 
ful history,  and  of  studying  those  points  at  which  his 
own  and  Linda's  life  had  come  in  contact  with  the 
life  of  the  solitary  prince.  These  reveries  had  always 
one  unvarying  conclusion.  Over  his  face  passed 
that  expression  of  anguish  Avhich  twisted  the  body 
like  the  rack,  and  which  had  attacked  him  many 
times  on  the  island.  He  blamed  the  pictures  and 
mementoes  in  his  room  for  this  weakness.  There 
was  the  painting  of  the  yacht  and  a  score  of  pretty 
things  belonging  to  that  former  time.  A  glimpse 
of  any  one  of  them  disturbed  him,  but  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  put  them  away.  He  was  content  to 
wait  the  time  when  all  these  things  would  stand  in 
his  memory  like  distant  mountains  wrapped  in  a 
heavenly  mist.  He  had  lost  none  of  his  political 
standing  by  his  defeat,  and  the  Senate  was  open  to 
him.  He  had  resolved  to  accept  the  office.  It 
would  be  a  very  quiet  affair,  and  its  dullness  would 
be  a  safe  refuge  for  a  vessel  without  any  definite 
harbor.     His  love  affairs  were  not  going  smoothly. 

Barbara  was  acting  oddly.    He  had  said  to  her  a 


m 
III. 


ill, 


n-m.i.- 


m 


(1 1 


lijii 


III 


298 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


few  short,  polite  words  on  the  general  character  of 
her  Clayburgh  visit  which  were  certain  to  put  an 
end  to  escapades  of  that  sort.  She  had  a  stock  of 
other  annoyances,  however,  and  dealt  them  out 
carelessly.  At  an  assembly  she  had  chatted  much 
with  Rossiter  and  the  Count  in  turn.  "When  he 
gave  her  his  impressive  reasons  why  she  should  do 
these  things  no  more,  she  had  laughed  at  him  and 
done  them  again.  Finally  the  climax  was  cap])ed 
when  he  encountered  the  insidious  Russian  in 
Barbara's  recej^tion-room.  It  was  certainly  an  odd 
thing  for  Florian  to  show  his  feeling  strongly, 
but  he  did  so  on  this  occasion.  Plis  face  paled 
slightly  and  a  light  sweat  burst  out  on  his  forehead, 
while  his  hands  hanging  at  his  side  shook  as  if  with 
ague.  He  stood  in  the  doorway,  unable  to  do  more 
for  an  instant,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  Count  with  an 
expression  which  frightened  Barbara  into  a  faint 
scream.  Vladimir  smiled  with  deep  satisfaction, 
and,  bowing  politely  to  the  lady,  bade  her  good- 
morning  and  withdrew.  The  scream  brought 
Florian  to  his  senses,  and  Barbara's  pretty  and 
anxious  inquiries  were  met  with  his  usual  self-pos- 
session. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he — and  the  little  lady  recog- 
nized the  tone  very  Avell ;  it  always  reminded  her  of 
the  late  visit  to  Clayburgh — "  the  Count  is  obnoxious 
to  me  for  the  best  of  reasons.  I  do  not  wish  to  see 
you  and  him  together  again  on  any  occasion.  As 
for  coming  to  vour  house,  it  must  be  his  last  visit." 

"  And  you  were  such  friends !  "  pouted  she.  "  But 
I  don't  care  two  pins  for  him,  and  I  think  it  annoys 
him  so  to  see  us  together.     You  are  just  a  little,  a 


TERR  I  CLE   TRUTH. 


299 


very  little,  hard,  Flory.  Confess,  now,  are  you 
not?" 

"  Not  hard  enough  for  him,"  the  great  man  said 
savagely,  "  there  is  so  much  of  the  devil  in  him." 

Barbara  was  both  curious  and  venturesome. 
What  was  the  secret  of  their  mutual  dislike  ?  It 
was  something  more  than  mere  jealousy,  and  she 
would  like  to  know  it.  Until  she  found  out  the 
cause  her  intentions  were  to  keep  on  terms  with  the 
Count.  It  would  require  caution  and  secrecy. 
What  of  that  ?  She  was  too  clever  to  be  caught  by 
such  a  mass  of  dignity  as  her  beloved  Florian,  who 
was  unacquainted  with  short  cuts  in  life's  path, 
would  not  take  them  if  he  were,  and  fancied  his 
promised  wife  fashioned  after  his  own  ideas. 
Barbara  and  the  Count  became  quite  friendly  once 
more  on  the  understanding  that  he  was  to  keep  out 
of  Florian's  way.  Every  art  known  to  the  fair 
widow  was  used  to  win  from  the  Count  the  secret  of 
his  broken  relations  with  Florian — which  he  never 
told,  of  course,  but  amused  and  revenged  him- 
self instead  by  filling  Barbara's  mind  with  wild 
longings  for  the  title  and  grandeur  to  which  Florian 
had  so  lately  resigned  the  right.  He  made  her  be- 
lieve that  these  things  could  yet  be  obtained,  and, 
by  picturing  the  glories  of  tlie  Russian  court,  made 
the  life  of  a  senator's  wife  in  Washington  appear 
by  contrast  tedious.  The  Jistute  Barbara  was  caught 
fast  in  the  trap,  and  from  that  moment  Florian  was 
beset  with  artifices  and  entreaties.  A  significant 
incident  put  a  sudden  end  to  her  ambition. 

"  Florian,"  slie  said  one  (hiy  as  her  eagerness  burst 
bounds,  "  do  try  to  win  your  title.    AVe  were  not 


,t 


i  1 


800 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"■'■' 

m 

ifft  'i" 

1:''      ';■ 

illli'i 

i:j-r 


made  for  this  horrid,  homespun  American  life.  I 
shall  just  die  thinking  of  what  might  have  been,  if 
you  do  not  make  the  attempt  at  least." 

He  mistook  her  eagerness  for  satire  and  showed 
her  a  caseknife. 

"  Take  that,"  said  he,  "  and  stab  me  to  the  heart. 
It  is  as  well  do  it  now  as  to  wait  for  a  Russian  spy 
to  do  it  for  you." 

She  looked  at  him  and  the  knife  for  a  few  mo- 
ments until  the  meaning  broke  upon  her  mind  and 
with  it  the  full  malice  of  the  Count's  suggestions. 

"  Do  you  suppose,  my  dear,"  he  said,  amused  at 
her  astonishment,  "  that  if  there  were  a  chance  of 
obtaining  my  title  and  estates  I  would  hesitate  ?  I 
got  what  was  possible,  and  with  that  we  must  be 
satisfied.  An  American  prince  is  an  oddity.  Let 
us  enjoy  what  glory  we  may  from  it." 

•'Hard  fortune,  my  prince,"  she  replied  with  a 
bitter  sob.  He  was  troubled  no  more  with  these 
longings.  Barbara  did  not,  however,  give  up  her 
pleasant  dealings  with  the  Count.  She  enjoyed  a 
petty  revenge  upon  him  by  allowing  him  to  continue 
his  lectures  on  the  glories  of  the  Russian  court,  and 
in  return  described  to  him  imaginary  scenes  with 
Florian  in  which  the  latter,  for  patriotic  motives, 
utterly  refused  to  leave  America.  It  did  not  take 
the  shrewd  Russian  long  to  discover  that  she  was 
playing  with  him.  "Was  he  always  to  be  the  sport 
of  this  woman  and  the  politician  ? 

"  You  are  a  clever  inventor,"  he  said  one  evening, 
"  and  I  see  that  you  have  discovered  me.  You  are 
bound  to  remain  in  politics,  Yankee  politics,  when 
it  lies  in  your  power  to  enjoy  the  refined  pleasures 


TERRIBLE   TRUTH. 


301 


of  a  civilized  court.  There  is  no  accounting  for 
tastes." 

"  Is  Florian  any  the  less  a  prince  in  America  ?  " 
she  asked.  "According  to  your  doctrines  his  blood 
is  as  blue  and  his  title  as  good  as  any  in  Europe. 
With  that  I  am  satisfied." 

"Always  Florian,"  he  said,  unable  to  hide  his 
fiery  jealousy.  "  If  you  should  lose  this  manly  par- 
agon, what  then? " 

"  If  I "  And  she  laughed  in  her  exasperating  way. 

"  You  are  playing  with  fire,  dear  lady.  You  do 
not  know  me.  I  have  not  given  you  up,  I  never 
will.  I  can  destroy  him  in  a  breath,  and  if  you  do 
not  take  care  I  loill  destroy  him.  My  mother's 
prayers  have  kept  me  from  nothing  so  far,  and  I  do 
not  suppose  they  are  yet  more  powerful." 

"  You  are  charming,  Count,  when  you  talk  and 
look  like  that.  How  many  times  have  you  made 
the  same  protestations  ? " 

"  Believe  me,  never  before.    Barbara,  Barbara, 


)> 


you  are- 

"  There,  there.  Count  do  not  be  unfair.  I  know 
all  that  you  would  tell  me  and  sincerely  beheve  it. 
Let  us  talk  of  something — well,  interesting." 

He  ground  his  teeth  in  silence  and  asked  himself 
how  much  longer  he  would  be  the  scorn  of  this  but- 
terfly. 

"If  the  door  opened  now  to  admit  your  Flo- 
rian  " 

"  Always  Florian,"  she  interrupted  reproachfully. 

"  In  what  a  position  you  would  be  after  his  com- 
mands to  you  concerning  my  visits ! " 

"  But  he  will  not  open  the  door,  and  if  he  did  you 


% 


302 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


1 


would  not  be  found  here.  The  window,  these  cur- 
tains, your  honor — what  a  number  of  happy  circum- 
stances I  trust  to  !  " 

"  Pshaw !  what  is  the  matter  with  me  ?  I  have 
never  allowed  myself  to  bo  led  by  a  string  so  with 
any  woman.  And  ni}'  hand  holding  the  winning 
card !  One  word  and  Florian  would  look  on  you 
with  horror.  What  is  the  matter  with  me  that  I  do 
not  utter  it  ? " 

"  The  matter  with  you,  Count,"  said  she,  looking 
at  her  watch  to  hide  a  faint  apprehension,  "  is  that 
you  have  stayed  too  long.  Kow  take  yourself  off 
while  the  door  is  open  to  3^00,  or  you  may  have  to 
go  by  the  Avindow." 

"  One  word,  one  little  word,"  said  tiie  Count,  half 
to  himself,  "  and  you  are  assured  to  me.  1  swear 
my  belief  that  Florian  would  never  wish  to  see  your 
face  again." 

"  If  you  will  not  go,"  she  said,  rising,  with  a 
trembling  voice,  "  I  must  leave  you.  You  have 
always  treated  me  with  honor " 

"  And  I  am  bound  so  to  treat  you  always,"  he  ex- 
claimed, at  once  jumping  to  his  feet.  "  You  shall 
not  be  compromised  on  my  account,  even  to  satisfy 
ray  hate  for  your  lover.  My  time  will  come,  and 
this  hand  which  now  I  embrace — will  you  permit 
me " 


-"  He  kissed  her  hand  while  she  stood  laugh- 
at  his  foolish  devotion ;  and  this  was  the  tableau 
which  greeted  the  cold,  steady  gaze  of  Florian  en- 
tering at  that  moment  by  the  softly-opening  door. 
There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Barbara  grew  pale 
to  the  last  degree  of  pallor,  and  the  Count  felt  a 
thrill  of  delight  leap  along  his  veins.     The  great 


TKUKIBLE   TItUTH. 


303 


laugh- 


man  alone  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  for  he  strode 
into  the  room  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  made 
his  politest  bow  to  the  two  guilty  ones.  The  Count 
took  his  hat  and  retired  towards  the  door  until 
Florian  detained  him. 

"You  muv  l(?ave  here  with  a  wrong  impression  of 
my  relations  to  Mrs.  Mei'rioii,"  he  said,  as  blandly 
as  was  possible,  "  which  I  wish  to  correct.  I  once 
presented  her  to  you  as  my  promised  wife.  It  was 
a  pleasantry  which  now  merits  explanation.  The 
lady  herself  will  assure  you  that  henceforth  she  is 
less  to  me  than  to  you  or  an\'  other  man." 

The  Count  bowed  with  a  sardonic  smile,  but  Bar- 
bara rushed  t(j  Florian  and  threw  both  her  arms 
about  him  amid  a  storm  of  sobs. 

"  He  threatened  you,  Florian  !  "  she  cried.  "  He 
said  you  were  in  his  j)ower.  I  did  it  for  your  sake. 
Oh !  do  not  be  cruel,  do  not  be  hastv.  A  little 
time,  my  love — time,  time,  time." 

Florian  was  staggered  out  of  his  stoical  calm  by 
this  plausible  explanation,  and  looked  at  the  Count 
inquiringly. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  the  latter  proudly,  "  and  if  you 
will  come  with  me  I  can  show  you  the  truth  of  what 
Madame  is  pleased  to  assert  of  me." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Florian  in  a  voice  which  made 
her  heart  quake. 

"  Kemember,  sir,  that  the  truth  will  bring  a  heavy 
penalty  on  your  head." 

"  You  must  not  go  to-night,  Florian,"  she  sobbed 
— "  oh !  not  to-night,  my  dearest.  "Wait  until  you 
are  recollected.  Appearances  are  against  you  and 
me,  and  this  man  is  your  sworn  enemy." 


r 


IK  . 


I      '  I 


-m  ' 


at 


804 


BOLITAKY   ISLAND. 


He  flung  her  off  almost  rudely. 

"  You  are  under  suspicion  also,"  he  said  in  that 
same  awful  voice,  the  voice  of  suppressed  rage  or 
fear.    "  Be  silent  until  I  come  again.    Not  a  word ! " 

She  fell  back  among  h(!r  cushions  as  the  door  closed 
on  the  two  men  and  thtjir  footsteps  died  gradually 
away.  The  two  rivals  in  the  affections  of  Barbara 
lost  no  time  in  reaching  the  luxurious  quarters  of 
the  Count.  Each  raged  with  sincere  hatred  of  the 
other,  and  each  was  sufficiently  destitute  of  principle 
to  use  any  means  to  compass  the  other's  destruction. 
The  successful  rival  saw  his  success  smirched  and 
befouled  by  his  jealous  opponent.  The  Count  could 
not  forgive  the  deception  practiced  on  him,  and, 
thoroughly  unscrupulous,  had  little  pity  for  the  de- 
ceiver. With  courage  and  bitterness  they  sat  down 
to  their  weighty  conversation.  The  Count  having 
the  advantage,  could  afford  to  be  slow  and  sarcastic. 

"  An  odd  change  this,"  he  said,  "  for  us  who  were 
friends." 

"Spare  your  sentiment,"  Florian  replied,  "and 
come  to  the  point.  And  let  us  understand  each 
other.  You  said  I  was  in  your  power,  and  you  used 
that  assertion  to  intrude  yourself  on  my  promised 
wife.  I  do  not  think  the  first  true,  and  the  second 
merits  a  punishment  which  you  shall  certainly  re- 
ceive— on  conditions." 

"  A  capital  phrase — on  conditions,"  sneered  the 
Count.  "  There  are  many  conditions,  then,  why  I 
shall  never  receive  the  merited  punishment.  First 
of  all,  Madame  Merrion  is  clever.  I  never  made  use 
of  any  threats  to  induce  her  to  receive  me.  She  has 
permitted  my  visits,  secretly,  of  course,  since  you 


TEKKIBLE   TllUTH. 


805 


forbade  her  the  pleasure  of  my  company.  At  my 
instigation  she  urged  you  to  make  an  attempt  to 
regain  the  title  you  lately  sold.  She  docs  not  care 
for  me  as  siie  does  for  you,  I  know.  You  out  of  the 
way,  I  foresee  what  would  lia})pcn.  Of  course  I  have 
left  no  means  untried  to  put  you  out  of  the  way. 
This  interview  is  one  of  them.    It  is  my  trump  card." 

He  looked  into  Florian's  set  face  with  the  old, 
gay,  devilish  look  that  the  great  nuin  had  often  ad- 
mired. There  was  anything  but  admiration  in  his 
soul  then.  Even  the  Count  awed  a  little  under  the 
intense  purpose  expressed  in  his  frowning  face. 

"  Your  father  is  dead,"  he  said  suddenly.  "  I  know 
that^  you  see,  and  also  who  did  it.  Have  you  never 
suspected  ? " 

"  Your  spy,"  said  Florian,  with  a  shudder  and  a 
groan. 

"  He  sent  the  bullet,"  the  Count  said,  "  obeying 
in  that  another's  will.  But  there  were  circumstances, 
remote  and  proximate,  which  led  to  the  crime.  I 
mean,  have  you  never  suspected  them  ?  " 

"  Is  that  the  secret  of  your  power  \ "  asked 
Florian,  shading  his  face  for  an  instant  to  hide  its 
contortions  of  pain  and  horror.  Ilis  voice  was  very 
low  and  quavering,  almost  pitiful.  From  that 
moment  until  the  Count  had  finished  speaking  he 
uttered  not  a  word. 

"  Ah  !  you  do  suspect  it,"  said  the  Count  wickedly, 
"and  you  see  I  do  not  spare  you.  But  you  have  not 
gone  into  the  secret  so  deeply  as  I.  You  and  I,  my 
Florian,  are  a  dangerous  and  bad  pair.  The  prayers 
of  your  father  and  my  mother  have  only  made  us 
worse,  and  it  is  lucky  that  our  faces  and  wills  are 

29 


* 


I 


I 


Rli 


■  '1 


\\i 


806 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


set  toward  the — well,  best  not  to  mention  it, 
perhaps." 

Florian  said  nothing  when  he  paused.  He  was 
listening  like  one  in  a  terrible  dream  for  the  sole 
point  of  this  discourse  which  concerned  him. 

"  I  will  do  you  the  honor  of  believing  that  had 
you  foreseen  the  tragedy  to  spring  from  your  man- 
ner of  life  for  years  past  you  would  have  changed  it. 
I  Avould  not,  I  fear.  You  might  not,  for  your  ambi- 
tion has  always  been  strong  enough  t(3  blind  you  to 
truth  and  right.  Pardon  me  for  moralizing,  but  I 
wish  you  to  understand  me  fully.  You  are  a  man  I 
have  never  trustetl  since  I  knew  you,  and  never  could 
trust  you.  Had  you  not  dropped  your  faith  " — Flo- 
rian started  as  if  struck — "  to  become  a  politician  it 
would  have  been  different.  AVith  a  man  who  has  once 
been  a  firm  Catholic  it  is  dangerous  to  deal.  You 
went  looking  for  your  father ;  so  did  we.  You  were 
afraid  to  find  him:  we  were  also,  or  at  least  I  was, 
for  I  foresaw  his  taking  off.  You  were  afraid  his 
appearance  would  lose  to  you  the  title-sale  money. 
The  motives  of  each  of  us  compare  to  the  son's  dis- 
advantage, do  they  not  ? " 

It  was  of  little  use  for  Vladimir  to  fix  his  mocking 
eyes  on  the  averted  face.  The  great  man,  face  to 
face  with  the  specter  Avhich  had  so  long  stood  at 
his  side,  had  only  its  horrid  features  in  his  gaze. 

"  "Well,  you  begin  to  comprehend,  my  Florian ; 
you  begin  to  recognize  your  own  soul  in  this  mirror 
of  mine.  You  were  false  to  a  son's  instincts  because 
of  your  ambition ;  you  were  false  to  a  lover's  in- 
stincts because  of  your  passion.  AVhat  folly  it  was 
to  expect  you  would  be  faithful  to  your  friend  when 


IK 


TERRIBLE   TRUTH. 


307 


it, 


his 


ang 


he  stood  in  your  way  !  You  fooled  us  all  very  cun- 
ningly— alas !  only  in  the  end  to  shame  yourself. 
You  left  your  princely  father  exposed  to  the  bullet 
of  the  assassin  when  a  little  honesty  and  patience 
would  have  saved  him.  How  could  you  suppose  I, 
the  libertine,  the  unprincipled  one,  would  bear  your 
insults  in  quiet  ?  We  continued  to  look  for  the 
father  you  deserted,  and  we  found  him.  Your  am- 
bition left  him  exposed  to  oui"  fury.  But  I  was  merci- 
ful. I  had  no  taste  for  blood,  for  tlie  blood  of  an 
unfortunate,  a  countryman,  a  co-religionist,  my 
friend's  father.  I  would  have  saved  him  but  for 
you." 

Again  the  great  man  started,  and  his  face,  hidden 
from  the  Count,  was  twisted  shapeless  from  that  in- 
ward agony.  The  llussian's  face  had  assumed  a 
stern,  malignant  expression  as  he  bent  his  fierce  eyes 
on  his  foe  and  sometime  friend.  The  last  words 
he  uttered  as  one  would  thrust  tlie  knife  into  a  man's 
heart. 

"  I  would  have  saved  him  but  for  "ou.  You  left 
the  honored  woman  whom  you  had  soler.inly  promised 
to  marry,  to  deprive  me  of  the  one  woman  of  my 
life — a  woman  far  below  your  standard,  hypocritical, 
but  charming ;  a  woman  to  further  your  ambitions, 
but  not  to  be  the  mother  of  Catholic  children.  As 
your  desire  for  money  exposed  your  father  to  danger, 
so  your  desire  for  this  woman  destroyed  him.  You 
remember  that  day  which  revealed  to  me  your  love 
for  Barbara  Merrion — a  selfish,  cruel  love,  doing  no 
honor  even  to  her.  How  you  triumphed  over  me! 
You  sent  me  home  mad  !  I  shall  never  forget  that 
day  on  which  I  sealed  my  own  damnation,  if  there 


%' 


r,'H 


i! 


I.'    i 


ifj^^ 


308 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


be  damnation,  because  of  you !  The  spy  had  found 
your  father !  What  shall  I  do  with  him  ?  he  asked ; 
and  I  said,  Kill  him !  " 

There  was  still  no  need  to  look  at  Florian,  now 
plunged  into  the  depths  of  shame  and  agony.  He 
uttered  no  moan  even  !  Outside  there  was  a  roll  of 
carriage  wheels,  and  presently  the  servant  was  knock- 
ing at  the  door  with  Paul's  card.  The  Count  read 
it,  and  upon  second  thought  declined  to  see  the 
gentleman,  but  the  poet  was  already  in  the  room 
making  his  apologies.  One  look  at  Florian  convinced 
him  that  he  had  come  too  late. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  say  anything,  Count," 
he  explained,  "since  I  see  you  have  done  the  mis- 
chief I  wished  to  prevent." 

The  Russian  smiled,  although  he  too  was  pale  from 
emotion  and  triumph.  He  rejoiced  in  his  success,  in 
the  humiliation  of  his  rival,  in  the  joy  of  once  more 
possessing  Barbara,  even  if  it  had  been  accomplished 
through  a  dreadful  crime.  Low  as  Florian  was,  he 
was  yet  a  degree  lower.  He  whispered  his  last  accus- 
ing words  in  the  great  man's  ear  with  something 
like  a  laugh. 

"  The  bullet  of  Nicholas  slew  your  father,  and  I 

permitted   it ;    but  you — you "     He  broke  off 

abruptly  and  turned  to  Paul,  his  hateful  feelings 
almost  bursting  from  his  worn,  evil  face,  his  fin- 
ger pointed  at  Florian. 

"  Behold  the  murderer  of  his  father !  "  he  cried. 

Florian  rose  and  his  face  came  into  the  light.  A 
dumb  animal  would  have  pitied  its  woe,  and  the  poet 
gave  a  cry  of  anger  and  sorrow  which  the  politician 
did  not  hear.    He  bowed  mechanically  to  the  two 


TERRIBLE   TRUTH. 


809 


Jind   walked   out  gravely   and   steadily   as  a  man 
proudly  going  to  execution. 

"  If  I  were  his  friend,  sir,"  the  poet  said  in  his 
simple,  truthful  way,  "  or  had  the  slighest  claim  up- 
on him,  I  would  feel  happy  in  the  right  to  punish 
you  for  what  you  have  done." 

"  Mr.  Rossiter,"  replied  the  Russian  courteously, 
"  I  would  be  sorry  if  you  had  a  claim.  ITe  deserves 
no  pity.  It  will  do  him  good,  the  knowledge  which 
he  has  of  himself.     You  will  excuse  me." 

He  offered  his  hand,  which  the  poet  did  not  take, 
and  the  look  which  he  cast  at  the  shapely  member, 
as  if  he  saw  its  bloody  stain,  brought  an  instant's 
flush  to  the  brazen  cheek.  Paul  \v«nt  out  to  his  car- 
riage, and  as  he  entered  it  he  heard  the  gay  voice  of 
Vladimir  humming  a  joyous  tune. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


THE  HIDDEN  LIFE. 


hi 


!0»'m 


m 


hk\ 


Rossiter's  presence  in  the  Count's  chambers  was 
the  result  of  an  hysteric  appeal  from  Barbara,  who 
fled  to  him  in  despair  the  moment  the  door  closed  on 
her  angry  lovers.  It  took  some  time  to  get  the  nec- 
essary explanations  from  her,  and  then  Rossiter  was 
only  too  eager  to  find  the  two  rivals,  before  either 
could  do  mischief  to  the  other.  His  failure  did  not 
at  first  sight  threaten  serious  consequences,  until  he 
had  time  to  reflect  on  the  details  of  the  painful  scene. 
He  had  never  seen  any  human  being  so  affected  by 
liorror  as  Florian  had  been.  He  grew  apprehensive 
over  it,  and  on  his  return,  after  dismissing  the  now 
quieted  Barbara,  communicated  his  apprehensions  to 
Frances. 

"  I  am  troubled  for  his  sake  as  well  as  yours,"  he 
said,  and  the  kindly  words  brought  a  smile  to  her 
lips.  "  He  has  heard  what  I  threatened  to  tell  him, 
from  no  very  gentle  lips,  and  he  looked  when  he 
left  us  as  if  his  heart  had  been  cruelly  wrung.  1 
do  not  know  if  the  trutli  will  make  him  ill  or  bring 
him  to  his  senses.  It  is  better  that  he  should  know 
it  perhaps.  I  shall  watch  him  and  keep  guard  over 
him  for  your  sake  and  his  father's  until  any  possible 
danger  is  passed." 


THE   HIDDEN   LIFE. 


811 


She  thanked  him  gently.  The  poet  climbed  to 
his  attic,  sadly  haunted  by  Florian's  despairing- 
face. 

"  That  time  truth  struck  home,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"  and  pretty  sharply.  If  it  does  not  drive  him  to 
any  extreme  it  may  have  a  healthy  eifect  on  him. 
But  his  eyes  looked  bad." 

He  did  not  like  to  utter  the  thoughts  which  trou- 
bled him.  F^lorian's  mental  balance  was  remarkable, 
but  the  events  of  a  few  months  j)ast  were  of  a  kind 
to  shake  the  reason  of  strong  souls.  Xeither  Flo- 
rian  nor  Barbara  Avas  to  be  seen  the  next  day  nor 
the  day  after,  nor  the  third  day.  The  papers  had  a 
curious  rumor  then  of  a  sudden  departure  for  Europe 
of  the  accomplished  Barbara  and  a  well-known  at- 
tache of  the  Russian  embassy,  but  Paul  would  not 
believe  it  until  a  perfumed  note  in  Barbara's  hand- 
writing reached  him.  Every  one  seemed  to  make 
him  their  confidant. 

"  Dear  Mk.  Rossitek  : 

"  Try  to  believe  everything  people  say  of  me  in  the 
next  two  weeks.  My  word  for  it,  it  is  all  true.  I 
was  married  to  Count  Behrenski  this  morning.  Tie 
convinced  me  it  was  all  over  Ijetween  me  and  Flo- 
rian,  and  it  almost  broke  my  heart  to  know  it,  but 
it  did  not  cloud  my  senses  to  my  own  advantages. 
I  am  a  Russian,  at  all  events.  I  wish  you  luck  in 
your  love-affair.     A u  vei'o'n'  ! 

"  Barbara,  Countess  Behrenski." 


The  news  of  Mrs.  Merrion's  departure  in  the  role 
of  countess,  after  exciting  the  usual  wonder  of  the 


t.4t3      ^» 


!>    1       8 


\^ 


•;^';j|^j.il;rtlj 


S12 


iBOLITARY   ISLAND. 


town,  settled  out  of  siglit.  It  did  not  reflect  on  Flo^ 
rian,  whose  broken  engagement  to  the  widow  was 
not  Icnown  ;  and  still  it  would  have  mattered  littl« 
to  him,  under  present  circumstances,  if  that  disgrace 
had  been  flung  upon  him.  He  was  not  to  be  found 
in  his  oiRce  or  in  his  boarding-house,  but,  with  his 
usual  careful  foresight,  he  had  left  written  instruc- 
tions for  his  clerk,  Avithout  hinting  at  any  date  of 
return.  Paul  grew  more  and  more  uneasy  when  a 
week  had  passed  and  there  was  no  news  of  him. 
Frances,  with  her  wistful  eves  and  a  dread  in  lier  face 
which  he  alone  understood,  came  to  him  daily  for  in- 
formation. That  he  could  not  give  it  frightened 
both,  and  vainly  the  poet  cudgeled  his  brains  to  dis- 
cover some  clue  to  Florian's  motives  for  suddenly 
disappearing.  Had  he  gone  to  the  island  ?  What 
could  bring  him  there  in  the  dreary  days  of  March  ? 
If  he  were  repentant 

"  There,  that  will  do,"  said  the  poet ;  "  that's  not 
a  sensible  thought,  and  I  don't  know  as  I've  had  any 
sensible  thoughts  about  this  whole  matter.  I  think 
I'll  turn  to  the  unexpected  for  a  change." 

"  "What  can  we  do  ? "  was  Frances'  daily  cry. 

"  I  can  go  to  Clayburgh,"  he  said,  almost  with  a 
blush.  "  I  have  a  silly  idea  that  perhaps  a  great 
misfortune  has  made  him  penitent,  and  he  has  gone 
to  do  penance  over  his  father's  grave." 

"  That  is  it,"  said  Frances  eafjerlv.  "  I  knew  it 
would  come  to  that.  Mercy  is  not  beyond  him, 
Paul.     Oh  I  go,  like   his  good  angel." 

"  I  feel  it  is  a  nonsensical  thing  to  do,"  said  he, 
"  but  I  suppose  it  must  be  done.  And  if  I  find  him, 
and  evervthinjr  sliould  be  favorable,  what  could  we 


THE   HIDDEN   LIFE. 


813 


say  to  him  about — well,  your  mother  and  father,  for 
instance  ? " 

He  examined  the  paper  on  the  wall  attentively, 
while  she  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  face. 

"  If  he  is  safe,  that  is  enough,"  she  answered 
simply. 

"  Well,  let  it  go,"  said  Paul,  smiling.  "  He  doesn't 
care  very  much  for  any  of  us,  I  fear,  much  as  we  are 
interested  in  him.  And,  Frank,  as  long  as  you  live 
let  no  one  know  that  I  made  myself  such  a  goose  for 
your  sake  and  his  father's." 

Rossiter  slipped  into  Clayburgh  without  exciting 
attention.  He  found  a  close-mouthed  fisherman 
after  a  few  minutes'  search,  Avho  for  a  reasonable  sum 
agreed  not  only  to  take  him  to  Solitary  Island,  but 
also  to  keep  his  mouth  shut  about  it  until  eternity, 
and  the  journey  Avas  made  in  successful  secrecy. 
Arrived  at  a  spot  overlooking  the  well-known  cabin, 
Paul  dismissed  his  guide  and  crossed  the  ice  on  foot 
to  the  opposite  shore.  It  was  now  midnight.  The 
lonely  island  lay  three  feet  beneath  the  snow,  singu- 
larly tranquil  under  the  dim  stars.  A  faint  wind 
added  to  the  gentle  lonelinsss,  and,  stirring  the  trees 
on  the  hill,  brought  Paul's  eyes  to  the  grave  beneath 
them.  No  light  or  sign  of  human  presence  any- 
where !  No  tracks  in  the  snow  save  his  own  until 
he  reached  the  cabin-door;  there  began  a  pathway 
which  led  down  the  slope  and  up  the  opposite  hill  to 
the  grave — the  path  marked  out  by  the  funeral  pro- 
cession !  Even  while  he  looked  a  figure  came  stagger- 
ing from  the  grave  along  the  path  to  where  he  stood, 
a  figure  stooped,  uncertain  in  its  gait,  moaning,  and 
stopping  rarely  to  swing  its  arms  upwards  in  potent 


314 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


m 


ji 


despair.  Paul  trembled  with  dread,  and  the  tears 
sprang  to  his  eyes.  Was  he  to  find  the  mental 
wreck  he  had  once  pictured  ?  Florian  gave  no  sio-n 
of  surprise  when  he  saw  him.  but  adopted  at  once 
his  usual  reserve.     He  was  not  insane. 

"  You  here  ?  "  he  said  calmlv,  but  the  voice 
quavered.  "  I  believe  you  were  there  that  niglit, 
and  I  remember  you  said  you  had  a  message  for  me. 
Will  you  come  in  if  you  care  to  ?  " 

A  cheerful  fire  burned  in  the  hearth  of  the  single 
room  and  the  tallow  candle  showed  Izaak  Walton 
in  his  usual  place,  with  every  other  circumstance  of 
the  room  undisturbed.  Paul  said  nothing  until  he 
had  scanned  his  old  friend  keenly.  The  great  man 
sat  down  before  the  fire  placidly  and  submitted  to 
the  inspection  with  an  indifference  so  like  his  father's 
own  that  Paul  drew  a  breath  of  delight.  In  ten 
days  he  had  changed  wofully.  Ilis  clothes  hung 
upon  shrunken  limbs,  and  his  face  was  wasted. 
Hollow  cheeks,  hollow,  burning  eyes,  and  wide 
nostrils !  The  hand  which  rested  on  the  favorite 
book  showed  its  cords  and  veins,  the  shoulders  were 
rounded,  and  his  whole  attitude  one  of  physical 
exhaustion.  The  tears  again  sprang  to  tlie  poet's 
eyes.  Here  was  a  penitent  surely,  and  there  was 
something  boyish  or  childish  about  him  that  ap- 
pealed to  the  heart  wonderfully,  as  if  misfortune 
had  stripped  him  of  all  the  years  since  boyhood,  and 
all  his  honors. 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you,"  the  poet  said,  "  but, 
with  your  permission,  I'll  put  it  off  till  to-morrow. 
I  am  going  to  remain  here  for  to-night  with  your 
»>ermission  also." 


if 


THE   HIDDEN   LIFE. 


315 


he  tears 
mental 
no  sio-n 

at  once 

le  voice 
t  niglit, 
for  me. 

le  single 
Walton 
tance  of 
until  he 
eat  man 
litted  to 
father's 

In  ten 
)s  hung 
wasted, 
d  wide 

ivorite 
rs  were 
)hysical 

poet's 
ire  was 
hat  ap- 
fortune 
od,  and 

"  but, 
lorrow. 
;h  your 


"  Oh !  certainly,"  Florian  replied,  in  the  same 
uncertain  voice ;  "  there  is  a  good  room  yonder 
where  he  slept.  You  can  have  the  bed.  Have  you 
had  supper  ? " 

"I  would  like  something  to  eat,"  the  poet  said 
out  of  curiosity.  Florian  took  down  a  loaf  of  bread 
from  the  cupboard,  poured  some  water  into  a  cup, 
and  sat  down  again  without  any  apology  for  the 
scanty  fare — just  as  his  father  would  have  done. 
Paul  ate  a  slice  or  two  of  the  bread  and  drank  the 
water,  while  a  pleasant  silence  held  the  room.  He 
did  not  know  how  to  open  a  conversation. 

"  Tliis  was  his  favorite  book,"  said  he,  touching 
Izaak  AYalton  tenderly,  "  I  remember  often  to  have 
seen  him  reading  it  in  this  room." 

"  Yes,"  said  Florian,  with  interest,  "  and  it  is  one 
of  my  memories  of  him.  I  was  very  unfortunate  in 
not  knowing  more  of  him.  The  world  fooled  me 
out  of  that  treasure — and  of  many  another,"  he 
added  partly  to  himself.  Paul  was  surprised  more 
and  more.  This  pleasant,  natural  manner  of  speak- 
ing offered  an  odd  contrast  to  liis  woebegone  looks. 
It  was  something  like  the  Florian  of  years  past.  lie 
deliberated  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to  defer 
his  communication  until  he  understood  his  motives 
better. 

"  I  came  from  New  York  to-night,"  he  ventured 
to  say.  "  I  was  anxious  about  you,  and  so  were 
others." 

"  There  was  no  need  to  be  anxious,"  said  Florian 
cheerfully.  "  I  am  quite  happy  here.  It  is  a  pleas- 
ant residence  winter  and  summer.  I  shall  never 
regret  the  city,  which  will  certainly  not  regret  me." 


hi' 


'\  i 


H 


♦-'-«■ 

i     . 

i    S 

'      ■             1 

rk 

I            ■    ■  , 

j; 

I 

■  r   .  ■ 

|! 

i'; 
1 

]l 

y-- 

l'   ■ 

'{ 

■ 

; ; 

■'      i' 

i 

i  :: 

; 

316 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  You  may  not  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Merrion," 
Paul  remarked  helplessly,  so  astounded  was  he  by 
the  last  remark. 

"  No,"  said  the  other  without  curiosity.  "  Some 
scandal  connected  with  a  Count  Behrenski,  prob- 
ably." 

"  No.  She  married  him  and  went  to  Europe  last 
week  quietly."  And  after  that  the  poet  said  no 
more,  for  he  was  in  a  maze  and  knew  not  what  to 
think  or  do. 

"  I  shall  retire  now,  with  your  permission,  Florian," 
he  said  finally,  using  the  old  familiar  name.  "  I 
hope  I  am  not  troubling  you  too  much  or  driving 
you  from  your  own  bed." 

"  Not  at  all,  Rossiter,  not  at  all.  I  never  sleep 
there.  Good-night ;  and  if  you  should  not  find  me 
in  the  morning  have  no  uneasiness.  I  shall  turn  up 
again  assuredly." 

Paul  fell  asleep  without  settling  the  vexed  ques- 
tions which  Florian's  odd  manner  and  words  sug. 
gested.  The  great  man,  left  to  himself,  behaved  in 
a  simple  matter-of-fact  fashion  at  once  pathetic  and 
amusing.  He  snuffed  the  candle  with  a  face  as  ear- 
nest as  if  snuffing  candles  was  the  one  duty  of  his  life, 
put  away  the  remnants  of  Paul's  supper  carefully 
after  washing  the  cup  and  drying  it  neatly,  stirred  the 
fire,  opened  much-handled  Izaak,  and  settled  him- 
self for  a  quiet  hour's  reading.  Ten  days  had  fixed 
him  in  the  Solitary's  groove  as  firmly  as  if  he  had 
been  in  it  for  years.  On  the  night  of  Vladimir's 
revelation  he  had  driven  to  his  own  apartments  in  a 
state  of  mind  not  to  be  described.  He  had  long 
suspected  his  own  share  in  his  father's  death,  but 


:1     ! 


THE   HIDDEN   LIFE. 


1)1  t 


leri'ion," 
as  he  by 

"  Some 
ki,  prob- 

ro])e  last 

said  no 

what  to 

Plorian," 

me.    "  I 

driving 

ver  sleep 
find  me 
turn  up 

ed  ques- 

rds  sug. 

laved  in 

etic  and 

|e  as  ear- 

his  life, 

arefuUy 

rred  the 

ed  him- 

ad  fixed 

he  had 

adimir's 

nts  in  a 

a,d  long 

ith,  but 


the  lurid  color  in  which  Vladimir  painted  his  guilt 
was  a  fearful  shock  to  him.  lie  fled  from  the  Count 
in  a  sort  of  daze  which  his  firm  will  could  not  dispel, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  that  madness  or  delirium  Avas 
prevented  only  by  the  persistency  with  which  he 
beat  off  the  tumultuous  thoughts  that  crowded  upon 
him.  His  self-possession  was  entirely  gone.  The 
life  which  he  had  led,  the  ambitions  which  he  had 
cherished,  the  woman  whom  he  had  loved,  all  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  his  father's  death,  filled 
him  with  wild  horror  when  ho  recalled  them.  He 
could  not  think  of  anything  with  method.  He  could 
only  feel,  and  his  feelings  threatened  to  drive  him 
into  insanity,  so  sharp,  so  bitter  w^ere  they,  so  con- 
fused yet  active. 

It  was  instinct  more  than  reason  which  sent  him 
to  Solitary  Island.  It  was  a  mechanical  effort  of 
the  will  which  produced  the  instructions  for  his 
clerk ;  but  once  on  the  journey,  with  people  mc  ving 
about  him,  and  scene  after  scene  bringing  peace  to 
his  distracted  mind,  Florian  was  able  to  cry  like  a 
child  hour  by  hour  of  his  sorrowful  flight.  lie 
scarcely  knew  why  he  wept,  unless  to  ease  the  bur- 
den pressing  upon  his  heart,  which  seemed  to  flow 
away  with  his  tears.  Like  Paul,  he  reached  Clay- 
burgh  in  the  night,  and  unseen  fled  away  on  foot 
across  the  ice  over  the  well-knov^n  course  which  he 
and  Ruth  and  Linda  had  often  taken  in  the  yacht ; 
past  Round  Island  with  a  single  light  for  the  ice- 
waste,  leaving  Grindstone  to  the  left  as  he  ran  along 
the  narrow  strait  with  two  islands  rising  on  each 
side  of  him  like  the  walls  of  a  coffin ;  through  the 
woods  to  the  spot  overlooking  the  old  cabin  ;  across 


Ill 


w. 


M'  .1 


■  ;  ■   .1 
I.    '■ 


i 


i!i»i':ffliii.!i;i'  i 


j!   I 


^ii|  ll  < 


I'll  II  I 


liliii  II 


i^!!^^ 


I!lll.!!i 


818 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


the  bay  and  up  the  slope  to  the  lonely  grave  on  the 
summit,  where  he  cast  himself  with  a  long,  sad  cry 
of  grief  and  despair. 

Five  days  passed  before  anything  like  calm  and 
systematic  thought  returned  to  him.  One  idea  stood 
before  him  like  an  inhabitant  of  the  island,  with  a 
personality  of  its  own — the  words  of  the  Count: 
"  Behold  the  murderer  of  his  father  1 "  He  muttered 
the  accusing  w^ords  many  times  in  the  day  and  night, 
sitting  on  the  grave,  regardless  of  the  cold  and  whis- 
pering them  to  himself ;  weeping,  sobbing,  raving, 
moaning,  silent  by  times,  as  the  fit  took  him ;  never 
sleeping  tAvo  hours  at  a  time ;  haunted  always  by  a 
dreadful  fear  of  divine  or  human  vengeance.  Phan- 
toms of  past  incidents  and  people  were  floating 
around  him  sleeping  and  waking,  causing  him  con- 
stant alarm.  Even  the  sweet  face  of  Linda  frowned 
upon  him,  and  that  was  hardest  of  all  to  bear.  At 
the  close  of  the  fifth  day  his  delirium  suddenly  left 
him  and  he  enjoyed  a  long  and  refreshing  sleep. 
When  he  woke  the  hideous  nightmare  of  sorrow  and 
remorse  and  dread  had  vanished.  He  was  himself 
again,  but  not  the  self  which  had  fiitted  from  New 
York  to  hide  its  anguish  in  the  icy  solitude.  There 
was  another  Florian  born  of  that  long  travail,  and  a 
better  Florian  than  the  world  had  yet  known. 

He  was  not  aware  of  any  change.  He  had  lost 
his  habit  of  seli-consciousness,  and  he  was  to  become 
aware  of  \\  1  .at  was  working  within  him  only  when 
others  pointed  it  out  to  him.  Kneeling  in  the  snow 
at  the  foot  of  the  grave,  he  said  his  morning  prayers, 
promising  the  father  of  his  love  that  never  again 
would  he  have  occasion  to  grieve  for  him,  and  that 


THE   HIDnp:N    LI  IE. 


aio 


on  the 
jad  cry 

ilm  and 
sa  stood 
with  a 
Count : 
uttered 
I  night, 
id  whis- 
raving, 
;  never 
ys  by  a 
Phan- 
floating 
lim  con- 
Towned 
ar.  At 
nlv  left 
sleep, 
ow  and 
himself 
m  New 
There 
I,  and  a 
I. 

ad  lost 
jecorae 
f  when 
e  snow 
rayers, 
again 
id  that 


what  man  could  do  to  atone  for  murder  ho,  with  the 
help  of  God,  would  do.  Ilis  hreakfast  he  niudo  on 
fresh  fish  and  meal  found  in  tlie  larder,  traveling 
many  miles  that  day  in  the  snow  to  obtain  Hour  aiul 
meal  and  necessaries  at  a  distant  village.  lie  was 
very  weak,  but  it  troubled  him  not  at  all.  lie  had 
no  regard  for  his  own  sufferings,  so  firmly  were  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  martyrdom  his  father  endured  for 
his  sake.  Every  available  moment  found  him  at  the 
grave  in  deep  thought  or  prayer.  The  priest  of  an 
obscure  village  heard  with  wonder  his  strange  con- 
fession of  ten  years  of  life,  marveling  what  manner 
of  man  this  man  could  be ;  and  his  Communion  was 
simple  and  fervent,  as  became  a  penitent.  Thus  be- 
gan the  eighth  day,  and  at  its  close  he  was  sitting 
calmly  before  the  log-fire  in  the  kitchen,  and  Izaak 
Walton  was  in  his  hands. 

"What  was  he  going  to  do  ?  His  period  of  uncon- 
trolled grief  was  over  and  his  long  penance  begun. 
AVhere  Avas  it  to  end?  He  had  many  injuries  to  re- 
pair— his  scandalous  life,  his  rejection  of  Frances, 
his  treatment  of  all  his  friends.  Not  for  one  mo- 
ment did  he  think  of  returning  to  the  city  or  to  pub- 
lic life.  He  saw  clearly  the  precipice  from  which 
Providence,  by  means  of  great  misfortunes,  had 
snatched  him.  He  had  entered  the  great  city  a  pure- 
hearted  boy  to  whom  sin  was  almost  unknown,  whose 
one  desire  was  to  preserve  the  faith,  in  spirit  and  in 
word,  incorrupt  in  himself.  How  gradually  and  how 
surely  he  fell !  Careless  intercourse  with  all  sorts  of 
people  and  the  careless  reading  of  all  sorts  of  books, 
with  the  adoption  of  all  sorts  of  theories  and  ideas, 
brought  upon  him  an  intellectual  sensuality  only  too 


M 


f  i  'm 
r  4 


« 


^  I 


'^■« 


! )'  i 


11 


820 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


common  and  too  little  noticed  in  the  world.  Then 
came  the  loose  thought  and  the  loose  glance  and  the 
loose  word,  the  more  than  indifferent  companions, 
the  dangerous  witticism,  the  state  which  weakened 
faith  and  practice,  and  prepared  the  soul  for  its 
plunge  into  the  mud.  Thank  God !  he  had  escaped 
the  mud,  at  least.  But  who  had  saved  him  ?  And 
was  he  to  go  back  to  it  all^  "There  are  some  men 
whom  politics  will  damn."  Wise  words  for  him,  at 
whom  they  seemed  to  point.  "Wliat  was  he  to  do  ? 
He  thought  over  it  that  night  and  the  next  morn- 
ing. His  resolution  formed  itself  slowly  ;  tinally  it 
was  made.  He  would  take  his  father's  place  on  the 
island,  and  remain  there  until  death  released  him 
from  his  penance.  Wiis  it  a  hard  thing  to  do  ?  Xo, 
he  said,  not  with  the  graves  of  father  and  sister  so 
near  him.  And  thus  was  he  situated  when  Paul 
found  him. 

The  poet  made  his  morning  meal  in  silence  and 
constraint.  It  reminded  him  forcibly  of  many  meals 
he  had  eaten  in  the  same  room  while  sharing  the 
hermit's  hospitality.  The  circumstances  were  little 
changed.  Although  the  day  was  cold,  the  sun 
shone  through  the  red-curtained  window  with  a 
summer  brightness,  the  log-fire  glowed  in  the  hearth, 
the  savory  smell  of  broiled  fish  pervaded  the  little 
room,  and  Florian,  a  wonderful  likeness  of  his  father, 
sat  eating  sparingl}^,  silent  but  not  gloomy,  save  for 
the  sad  shadows  occasionally  flitting  over  his  face. 
The  contrast  between  the  placid  manner  and  the 
feverish  countenance  was  odd,  but  not  so  forcible 
as  the  difference  between  this  silent  man  and  the 
ambitious  politician.     Paul  gave  up  speculation  as 


THE   HIDDEN   LIFE. 


321 


I.    Then 
and  the 
panions, 
'^eakened 
I  for  its 
.  escaped 
1?    And 
Dine  men 
r  him,  at 
le  to  do  ? 
xt  morn- 
tinally  it 
ce  on  the 
ased  him 
io?    No, 
sister  so 
len  Paul 

ence  and 
ny  meals 
aring  the 
rere  little 
the  sun 
with   a 
[e  hearth, 
the  little 
|is  father, 
save  for 
his  face, 
and  the 
forcible 
and  the 
lation  as 


a  hopeless  task,  and  rightly  judging  his  present 
temper,  plunged  abruptly  into  the  matter  of  his 
visit. 

"  You  may  be  aware  of  the  circumstances  Avhich 
led  to  my  stay  on  Solitary  Island,"  said  he  for  a 
beginning.  Florian  regarded  him  placidly,  without 
a  trace  of  the  old  feeling  in  his  looks.  Paul  thought 
it  pretense  ;  but  it  was  real.  The  great  man  had  no 
feeling  towards  him. 

"  I  am  not  aw^are  of  them,"  lie  replied. 

"  Strangely  enough,  our  reseml)lance  was  the  cause 
of  it,"  said  Paul.  "  The  spy,  who  pursued  you  be- 
cause of  your  resemblance  to  your  own  family,  pur- 
sued me  for  the  same  reason,  drove  iv.e  out  of  all 
employment  and,  with  tlie  aid  of  injudicious  friends, 
brought  me  to  the  verge  of  poverty  and  death.  Your 
father  saved  me,  and,  for  reasons  quite  plain  to  us 
both,  took  me  in  and  earned  my  everlasting  gratitude 
for  himself  and  his  son." 

A  faint  flush  spread  over  Florian's  face  in  the 
pause  that  followed. 

"  I  must  ask  your  pardon,"  he  said  humbly,  "  for 
my  guilty  share  in  your  sufferings.  I  Avas  your 
friend,  and  I  should  have  aidei.  you  ;  but  I  was 
led  to  believe  you  stood  between  me  and  Ruth,  and 
again  bet  .veen  re  and  Frances  Lynch.  I  was  glad 
you  suffered.  1  regret  it  sincerely  now.  I  trust 
you  ■^vill  forgive  me." 

It  wap  the  poet's  turn  to  blush  at  this  humility. 

"  Don't  mention  it,"  said  he.  "  Peter  Carter  was 
the  cause  of  all  these  troubles.  You  are  not  to  blame. 
I  am  not  sorry  for  them.  They  brought  me  in  con- 
tact with  your  father. 

SI 


?> 


%  ^ 


I'i 


m 


!;  •}. 


1:111 


!H 


n 


322 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


"  And  I  hated  you  for  that,"  Florian  went  on 
the  same  tone, "  uecause  your  worthiness  won  a  privi- 
lege which  my  crimes  deprived  me  of  I  spoke  to 
you  once  under  that  impression  in  a  manner  most 
insulting.     I  ask " 

"  Hold  on  ! "  said  Paul,  jumping  to  his  feet  with 
a  red  face.  "  No  more  of  that,  Florian.  I  cannot 
stand  it.  If  you  are  really  sincere  in  this  change 
that  has  come  over  you  kjep  your  apologies  for 
Frances  and  others.  But  I  do  not  understand  it.  I 
expected  something  like  this,  but  not  so  complete 
and  astounding  a  revolution." 

Florian  offered  no  remonstrance  to  this  blur.t  sus 
picion,  but  after  a  little  pointed  out  to  tht  grave 
with  such  a  look  in  his  face !  then  back  to  himi:>=)lf . 

" '  Behold  the  murderer  of  his  father,' "  he  saia  in 
a  sudden  burst  of  sobs,  as  he  repeated  the  Count's 
telling  words.  "  If  I  could  apologize  to  him  as  I 
do  to  you,  as  I  shall  do  to  all  the  others.  Alas  1 
what  humiliation  is  there  greater  than  that  ? " 

"  He's  on  the  right  track,"  said  the  satisfied  poet, 
wiping  his  eyes  in  sympathy  and  thinking  joyfully 
of  Frances. 

"  It's  all  cleared  up  between  us,  then,  Flory,"  said 
he  cheerfully,  as  he  clasped  the  great  man's  hand. 
"My  business  is  made  the  easier  for  that,  and  it 
will  send  me  back  to  New  York  with  a  light  heart. 
Come,  I  have  some  spots  of  interest  to  show  you 
about  the  old  house.  Your  father  loved  me,  Flory. 
How  proud  I  am  of  that  honor !  But,  ah !  not 
as  he  loved  you,  his  son.  I  was  his  confidant  in 
many  things,  and  I  have  the  secret  of  his  life  and 
the  explanation  of  its  oddities.    Flory,  your  father 


THE   HIDDEN    LIFE. 


323 


rent  on 
L  a  privi- 
ipoke  to 
ler  most 

'eet  with 
[  cannot 
J  change 
ogies  for 
ind  it.  I 
complete 

blurt  sus 
,ht  grave 
himfc>=ilf. 
he  saia  in 
3  Count's 

him  as  I 
^s.  Alas ! 
It?" 

tied  poet, 
joyfully 


?j 


lory,"  said 
In's  hand. 
it,  and  it 
rht  heart, 
show  you 
le,  Flory. 
„  ah!  not 
ifidant  in 
is  life  and 
►ur  father 


was  a  saint,  of  princely  soul  as  well  as  princely 
birth." 

He  lifted  a  trap-door  in  the  floor  of  the  bedroom, 
and  led  the  way,  holding  a  Ughted  candle,  into  the 
cellar. 

"  It  is  not  a  cellar,"  he  explained,  flashing  the 
light  on  the  rocky  walls,  "  but  a  cave.  Here  is  a 
door  concealed  in  the  rock  very  nicely.  We  open  it 
so.    Now  enter  and  here  we  are." 

They  could  hear  the  sound  of  running  water  in  the 
cave,  but  Florian  paid  it  no  attention.  His  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  new  discovery.  A  set  of  rude 
shelves  took  up  one  whole  side  of  an  almost  square 
room,  and  was  thickly  crowded  with  books.  The 
general  character  was  devotional  and  mystical,  but 
the  classics  were  well  represented,  and  astronomy 
and  philosophy  had  the  choicest  volumes.  A  rough 
desk  below  contained  a  wooden  carved  crucifix,  a 
few  bits  of  manuscript,  and  writing  materials.  From 
a  peg  in  its  side  hung  a  leather  discipline,  whose 
thongs  were  tipped  with  fine  iron  points.  A  few 
sacred  prints  hung  on  the  walls.  Flor'  >n  knelt  and 
kissed  first  the  crucifix  and  then  the  discipline. 

"  This  spot,"  said  Paul  reverently,  "  is  a  secret  to 
all  save  you  and  me.  When  I  first  came  here, 
broken  down  and  disheartened — it  £  3ems  a  beautiful 
and  fit  sanctuary  for  the  disheartened — I  was  sin- 
cerely disposed  to  lean  more  heavily  on  God  for  the 
support  I  needed.  After  a  little  the  prince  took  me 
into  his  confidence,  and  I  beheld  such  a  sight " — the 
tears  of  emotion  poured  from  his  eyes — "as  I  had 
never  dreamed  of  seeing  this  side  of  heaven.  Long 
meditations  and  prayers,  mortifications  such  as  that 


il       ! 


|:JI 


324 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


discipline  hints  ut,  unboiuukd  charity  for  all  men, 
are  virtues  common  to  all  the  saints.  They  did  not 
impress  me  as  did  the  glimpses  of  his  soul  which  I 
received.  Ah!  such  an  ovei'i)o\vering  love  of  God. 
It  seemed  to  burn  within  him  like  a  leal  flame  and 
to  illuminate  the  space  about  him  as  does  tiiis  candle. 
I  would  have  feared  liim  but  for  the  love  and  strength 
these  very  qualities  gave  me.  I  knelt  liere  with  him 
often,  and  wlien  I  was  strong  enough  tried  to  stay 
by  him  in  his  vigils.  I  know  the  angels  often  came 
t  v\w  visibly.  I  saw  Avonders  here  and  dreamed 
re  I  .ms.  And  no  one  knew  it  save  myself. 
"Wl.o  .  !ild  have  believed  it  had  they  not  seen  what 
I  saw  ? " 

"  Blind,  blind,  blind  ! ''  murmured  Florian.  "  We 
all  caught  glimpses  of  his  glory,  but  my  love  was 
not  as  shai-p  as  hate,  and  my  soul  too  low  to  look 
for  such  a  manifestation  of  grace.  ^Fy  sin  is  all  the 
gj'cater." 

'"  The  last  time  I  saw  him,"  continued  Paul,  "  was 
in  this  spot,  kneeling  w^here  you  are  kneeling.  He 
had  a  premonition  of  his  coming  passion,  but  it  was 
lightened  by  the  conviction — perha])s  it  had  been 
revealed  to  him — that  out  of  it  would  come  your 
salvation.  '  Tell  my  son,'  he  said,  '  that  I  died  be- 
cause of  him.''  " 

"  '  Behold  the  murderer  of  his  father,'  Florian  mur- 
mured to  himself. 

"  '  Tell  him  also  not  to  despair,  but  with  a  good 
heart,  and  without  haste  or  great  grief  for  anything 
save  for  his  sins,  to  begin  his  ])enance.'  You  see  he 
knew  ;  and  when  I  asked  him  if  he  were  about  to  die, 
*God  holds  all  our  days,'  said  he,  'who  knows  but 


THE   HIDDEN    LIFE. 


325 


11  men, 
did  not 
which  I 
of  God. 
Lrae  and 
5  candle, 
itrength 
ith  him 
i  to  stav 
en  came 
Ireamed 
myself, 
en  what 

I.     "  We 

ove  was 

to  look 

s  all  the 

|.il,  "  was 
g-  He 
b  it  was 
id  been 
pe  your 
Idied  be- 

lan  mur- 

a  good 
lything 

see  he 

^t  to  die, 

)W8  but 


this  may  be  our  last  i '  I  never  saw  him  again  in  life. 
God  rest  his  soul,  if  it  has  suifered  any  delay  I  " 

There  was  again  a  short  pause  as  Paul  waited  to 
review  that  last  scene  and  to  recall  the  tones,  the 
feelings,  the  incidents  of  a  most  pathetic  moment. 
Florian  still  knelt  at  the  desk  with  his  fingers  about 
the  discipline. 

"Well,  it  is  all  over,"  he  said  to  the  kneeling 
figure  ;  "  let  us  go.  You  notice  tlie  dry  air  of  the 
cave.  It  is  beautifully  ventilated  and  very  safe  for 
such  a  place.  Your  father  loved  it.  Come,  my 
friend.     Or  do  you  wish  to  remain  here  ( " 

Florian  rose  and  they  returned  to  the  room  above. 

"  I  have  finished  my  work — almost,"  said  the  poet, 
putting  on  his  hat,  "  and  now  I  am  going.  Can  I  be 
of  any  help  to  you  ?  " 

"  My  father's  friend  and  mine,"  Florian  replied, 
"  I  have  need  only  for  your  pardon  and  the  renewal 
of  that  affection  vou  once  had  for  mo." 

"  And  never  lost,  Florian.  You  have  it  still,  and 
the  pardon  which  is  al  ways  yours  beforehand.  After 
a  little  you  will  return  to  Xew  York  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  a  little,"  he  replied  slowly,  "  but  not 
to  remain.  Here  is  my  home  in  the  future.  I  have 
my  business  to  close  up  and  a  great  act  of  justice  to 
perform.     After  that  my  solitude." 

It  was  on  the  poet's  lips  to  dissuade  him  from  so 
extravagant  a  course,  l)ut  he  thought  better  of  it  and 
said  nothing,  preferring  to  leave  so  delicate  and 
dangerous  a  matter  to  time  and  the  good  providence 
of  God.  Florian  walked  out  with  him  as  far  as  the 
opposite  sliore,  a  smile  of  joy  lighting  up  oddly  the 
sad  lines  of  his  face.     He  seemed,  however,  singu- 


['    i' 


mil' 
1 


llviil' 


'i ;  i 


326 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


larly  destitute  of  the  power  of  self-reflection.  His 
thoughts  were  ever  fixed  on  what  he  had  seen  and 
heard  of  his  father,  without  much  attention  to  their 
effect  on  himself.  He  was  smiling,  not  for  joy,  but 
in  obedience  to  some  hidden  impulse  which  he  did 
not  think  of  analyzing. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  pleased?"  said  the  poet 
to  him. 

"  Do  I  look  pleased  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  puzzled 
expression  which  silenced  the  poet.  They  parted  at 
the  entrance  to  the  woods. 

"  Until  I  see  you  again,"  said  the  poet,  clasping 
his  hand. 

That  was  a  miserable  day  for  Kuth  Pendleton 
which  witnessed  the  vulgar  outbursts  of  Barbara 
Merron  and  showed  to  her  the  real  character  of  the 
woma,n  in  whom  she  had  confided.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  prevent  her  telling  Rutli's  story  to  the  whole 
world ;  and  in  her  heart  there  was  the  dread  of  its 
reaching  Paul's  ears,  as  it  must  if  lie  remained  long 
in  the  town,  or  if  Barbara  encountered  him.  She  was 
compelled  to  believe  that  Paul  thought  no  more  of 
her  than  of  any  other  woman,  in  spite  of  Barbara's 
gossip.  His  manner  had  always  been  cordial,  re- 
spectful, and  distant.  He  had  never  sought  her  out, 
and  he  so  near ;  had  never  presumed  to  any  of  a 
lover's  familiarity ;  had  always  been  as  distant  as  a 
polite  acquaintance  could  be,  and  talked  of  New 
York  and  his  visit  to  her  convent  as  common  things, 
which  they  were  not  to  her.  Was  the  bit  of  Bristol- 
board  a  fancy  then  ?  She  looked  at  it  many  times 
a  day.  How  it  would  amuse  him  when  Barbara  re- 
lated Itc  history !     Her  cheeks  burned  at  the  thought 


THE  HIDDEN   LIFE. 


327 


poet 


of  the  humiliation.  The  Squire  assured  her  that  he 
had  arranged  it  with  Barbara  nicely. 

Ruth  was  fain  to  be  satisfied,  but  could  not  trust 
Barbara  until  she  heard  that  Paul  had  also  departed 
from  Clay  burgh.  It  was  a  delicate  and  though  'ful 
act  on  the  poet's  part,  and  well  deserved  its  intended 
effect.  Ruth  rejoiced  over  it  from  one  point  of  view. 
It  was  hardly  probable  that  he  had  met  Barbara.  If 
so,  and  she  had  told  him,  there  was  no  dread  of 
meetino;  him  again  in  this  world.  Her  dream  faded 
into  the  chill  reality  of  day.  Resignation  was  Ruth's 
stronghold,  and  she  bore  this  sorrow  as  sweetly  as 
she  had  borne  many  others  in  her  placid  life.  The 
winter  wore  away,  until  blustering  March  began  to 
hint  at  the  warmth  of  spring.  Then  walking  out 
one  day  she  met  at  the  postoffice  Paul,  hearty  and 
loud  from  a  consciousness  of  the  happiness  to  come. 
It  was : 

"  Miss  Pendleton,  are  you  not  glad  to  see  an  old 
face  to-dav  ?  "  and  "  Mr.  Rossiter,  this  is  an  unex- 
pected  pleasure,"  with  bows  and  tremblings  and 
heart-beats  innumerable,  and  many  inquiries  about 
nothing  at  all,  until  Paul  s^aid  : 

"  You  may  wonder  at  my  return  in  this  rough 
season,  but  I  come  on  a  matter  that  concerns  us 
both." 

"  Had  you  not  better  wait  ? "  she  said  politely, 
glancing  around  while  inwardly  she  grew  hot  and 
cold  from  shame. 

"  I  merely  wished  to  give  you  a  hint,"  he  said,  "  of 
what  you  are  to  expect."  Knowing  the  double 
meaning  in  his  words  he  watched  her  confusion  with 
secret  delight.     "  The  island  has  another  solitary." 


328 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


U:<' 


h  u:-' 


Bll'jF 


She  cast  a  stai'tled  look  at  him. 

"  Florian  has  come  back  a  penitent,  thrown  up  the 
world  and  its  honors,  and  proposes  to  live  and  die, 
as  did  his  father,  in  the  obscurity  of  that  island." 

"  I  am  dazed,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  cannot  understand 
such  things." 

"  They  are  as  true  as  they  seem.  Miss  Pendleton. 
This  evening  I  shall  explain  them.  Florian  is  on 
the  island,  has  been  there  for  ten  days,  and  Mrs. 
Merrion  has  married  a  Russian  count  and  gone  to 
Europe,  You  are  still  more  surprised.  Let  me  say 
good-day  to  you,  and  do  me  the  honor  of  being  at 
home  this  evening." 

Ruth  was  again  deceived.  This  visit  concerned 
only  Florian,  she  thought,  and  consequentl}^  there 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  fear  that  Barbara  had 
exposed  her.  That  night  when  Rossiter  called  talk 
drifted  into  the  usual  channels.  Paul  related  the 
circumstances  which  had  led  to  Florian's  flight  to 
the  island,  and  gave  Ruth  a  descri])tion  of  his  ex- 
perience with  the  penitent  that  morning. 

"  It  is  a  wreck  you  have  seen,  not  Florian,"  she 
said,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes ;  "  but  out  of  it  the 
old  Florian  will  come  back  to  us.  Thank  God  !  I 
hope  Linda  and  the  prince  know,  this  day  of  joy." 

"  It  is  quite  impossible,"  said  Paul,  "  that  he  should 
take  up  the  life  his  father  led.  Yet  it  fits  him 
wonderfully  ;  and  to  see  him  you  would  think  the 
prince  was  revived." 

"  We  shall  leave  Pere  Rougevin  to  settle  his  future. 
He  will  make  it  easy  for  him  to  resume  the  old  life 
without  violence  to  the  grace  which  he  has  received. 
I  shall  make  bold  to  visit  him  to-morrow." 


THE   HIDDEN    LIFE. 


829 


up  the 
nd  die, 
id." 
jrstand 

dleton. 
1  is  on 
d  Mrs. 
;one  to 
me  say 
eing  at 

ncerned 
y  there 
ara  had 
[led  talk 
ted  the 
ght  to 
lis  ex- 

an,"  she 
f  it  the 
od!     I 

joy." 

e  should 
its  him 
link  the 

s  future, 
old  life 
•eceived. 


"  I  shall  have  the  honor  of  accompanying  you," 
said  Paul,  "  if  }  ou  have  no  objections.  I  am  going 
to  the  Island  myself.  My  two  reasons  for  coming 
here  were — I  wished  to  make  certain  of  what  had 
happened  to  Florian  for  the  sake  of  Frances." 

"  Poor  girl ! "  said  Rutli,  "  slie  will  be  his  salvation 
yet." 

"  Indeed  she  will,  Miss  Pendleton,  I  believe  his 
heart  turns  that  way  still.  Ko  great  heart  like  his 
could  ever  find  content  in  such  a  creature  as  Mrs. 
Merrion.  And  my  other  reason  was  to  remove  any 
misunderstanding  between  you  and  me." 

"  Misunderstanding !  "  said  Ruth,  greatly  sur- 
prised. 

"  I  have  loved  you  a  long  time,  Miss  Pendleton — 
fully  eight  years.  I  have  tried  to  keep  it  a  secret, 
to  bury  it  forever  from  your  knowledge,  and  yet  I 
could  not.  I  could  not  leave  you  without  having 
spoken.  God  knows  if  I  might  not  have  made  a 
mistake  in  so  doing !  It  would  be  an  eternal  regret 
to  me,  and  so  I  wish  to  know  from  your  own  lips, 
Ruth,  if  I  must  part  from  you  forever.  It  rests 
with  you  to  give  me  tlie  greatest  happiness  or  the 
greatest  sorrow  of  my  life." 

"  I  shall  be  compelled  to  give  you "  She  hesi- 
tated, for  her  emotion  was  strong,  and  she  dreaded 
an  exhibition  of  tears.  Paul  trembled  in  spite  of 
his  confidence  in  Barbara's  story. 

"I  shall  be  compollod  to  give  you,"  said  Ruth 
calmly,  after  a  time,  "  what  you  call  the  greatest 
happiness  of  your  life."  And  she  laid  her  hand  in 
his  for  an  instant  while  their  eyes  met  and  exchanged 
the  thoughts  too  true  and  sweet  for  expression.    His 


■V. 


330 


SOLITARY    ISLAND. 


'  ifl 


PI 


face  was  radiant,  and  he  made  no  demur  when  she 
begged  to  be  excused  and  withdrew  to  her  own 
room.  God  had  been  very  good  to  her.  In  the 
very  moment  of  her  resignation  to  His  will  He  had 
honored  and  blessed  her  beyond  belief.  The  Squire's 
heart  fell  when  Paul  made  a  formal  demand  upon 
him  for  his  daughter. 

"  I  had  thought  Ruth's  idea  of  marrying  was 
over,"  said  the  Squire  sadly ;  "  but,  if  you've  made 
it  up  between  you,  I  have  only  to  say  yes." 

Florian  easily  guessed  the  relation  existing  be- 
tween the  two  who  visited  him  the  next  day.  Ruth's 
manner  was  always  so  clearly  marked  in  its  modesty 
and  reserve  that  her  intimates  might  soon  discover 
any  variation  in  it.  The  new  hermit  accepted  the 
position  quietly  and  without  so  much  as  a  single 
reflection  on  what  might  have  been.  He  did  not 
look  for  any  surprise  on  the  part  of  those  who  came 
to  see  him,  nor  did  Ruth  manifest  any.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  been  there  ten  years.  Paul  gave  them  an 
opportunity  to  talk  alone. 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  said  Florian  gravely,  "  on 
your  present  happiness.  You  are  every  way  deserv- 
ing of  it." 

"  And  I  congratulate  you  on  yours,"  said  Ruth. 
"  Our  island  seems  destined  to  have  a  tenant  al- 
ways." 

She  would  have  wept,  had  she  been  alone,  at  his 
sadly  altered  appearance,  stooped,  pale,  hollow-eyed, 
and  the  firm  lips  quivering.  But  better  that  way 
and  dearer  to  God  than  in  the  pride  of  his  physical 
strength  and  political  glory. 

"  Yes,  this  is  a  place  for  happiness,"  he  said,  look- 


THE   HIDDEN    LIFE. 


331 


J  was 
made 


u 


on 


ing  around  the 
father's  heart — 


homely    room.     "  It  healed    my 


"  And  it  will  heal  yours,"  she  added  for  him  as  he 
left  the  thought  on  his  lips  unexpressed.  He  smiled 
as  if  she  had  reproved  him. 

"  I  hope  so.  You  have  not  known  all  my  wicked- 
ness, Ruth.     I  deserted  Frances " 

"  1  know  it  all,  Florian.  Do  not  distress  yourself 
with  recounting  it.  Your  reparation  will  be  all  the 
sweeter  to  her,  poor  girl." 

"  IIow  can  I  make  it  ?  "  he  said  humbly.  "  I  have 
put  a  shame  upon  her  which  only  marriage  can  take 
away ;  yet  I  could  not  ask  her  after  the  wrong  I 
have  done." 

"  Do  not  think  about  it  at  all,"  said  Euth  with 
emphasis.  "  Go  to  her,  tell  her  your  sorrow  and 
your  resolutions.  Her  love  will  find  a  way  through 
difficulties.  Linda  would  rejoice  to  see  this  hour," 
she  added.  "  Florian,  what  a  time  it  has  all  been  I 
What  a  treasure  we  missed  finding !  I  cannot  forgive 
myself  for  not  knowing  in  time." 

"  I  came  near  missing  it  altogether,"  he  said  in 
turn.  "  I  was  but  little  disturbed  at  his  discovery 
and  death.  What  a  fate  is  mine  1  Had  I  remained 
in  Clayburgh  he  would  have  made  himself  known 
to  me.  Had  I  even  been  faithful  to  God  while  in 
the  world  he  would  have  granted  me  the  favor. 
Had  I  tried  to  discover  him,  and  not  feared  it,  I 
would  have  found  him.  Had  I  ^  .  n  faithful  to 
Frances  he  would  not  have  dieu.  My  ambition, 
avarice,  disloyalty  to  the  faith,  and  desertion  of  my 
promised  wife  have  been  paid  for  by  the  fact  that  I 
am  his  murderer.     I  would  never  have  known  my 


882 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


I 

i 

s     ; 
) 

ill 

1 

1      ^     '^^ 

i 

f     l-.y-      .■:. 

r  :!;    : 

!l 

ll' 

:    P 

Mi 

:.i\\. 

dreadful  share  in  his  death  had  I  responded  to  the  feel- 
ings whicli  decency  and  grace  prompted  in  mo  when 
I  was  last  on  the  island  after  his  death.  But  no  ;  I 
went  back  to  evil  and  thus  was  I  turned  from  it. 
May  God  and  my  saintly  father  lielp  me;  but  indeed, 
Ruth,  I  am  a  most  miserable  man  1 " 

His  cheeks  flushed  while  he  was  speaking,  and 
Ruth's  tears  fell  slowly.  It  was  his  second  outburst 
of  feeling  in  mortal  presence  since  the  night  his 
crime  was  fixed  upon  him.  He  bowed  his  head  upon 
the  table  and  wept  in  silence. 

"  Thank  God,  as  I  do,  for  these  tears,"  she  said. 
"  Yours  is  a  strong  nature,  Florian,  and  once  turned 
from  the  right  it  would  require  just  such  means  to 
bring  you  back.  I  am  not  sorry  for  your  sins, 
since  I  see  your  repentance.  Your  father  cannot 
regret  his  sad  ending,  nor  your  share  in  it.  when  he 
sees  your  tears  falling  into  the  hand  c  )d.  O 
Florian  1  be  of  good  heart ;  all  your  sins  Uiv.  ox'given 
you." 

It  was  a  haggard  face  that  he  presented  on  rising. 

"  I  know  they  are  forgiven.  I  am  very  fortunate. 
Pardon  me  for  intruding  these  things  on  you.  It  is 
not  a  day  for  tears." 

The  sun  was  shining  maliciously  on  the  helpless 
snow,  whose  white  fingers  clung  in  vain  to  the 
spruce  trees  and  the  rocks,  and  with  much  weeping 
lost  their  hold  and  fell  out  of  sight.  Patches  of  gold 
color  lay  along  the  ice,  and  big  shadows  stole  around 
the  islands,  retreating  from  the  sun.  The  air  and 
earth  sparkled.  A  soft  wind  blew  from  the  south  in 
gusts  and  filled  the  narrow  channels  with  music.  It 
was  not  a  day  for  tears,  as  Florian  had  said,  but  the 


THE   HIDDKN    LIFE. 


333 


the  feel- 
iie  when 
it  no ;  I 
from  it. 
;  indeed, 

ng,  and 
outburst 
ight  his 
ad  upon 

lie  said. 
3  turned 
leans  to 
ur  sins, 

cannot 
vhen  he 

)d.  O 
oi'given 

1  rising, 
rtunate. 
I.     It  is 


sight  of  that  lonely  grave  upon  the  hill  wjis  ever  in  hi8 
eyes  and  the  beauty  of  the  world  lay  under  its  shadow. 
For  him  the  sun  rose  and  sot  behind  it,  and  beyond  it 
ho  saw  heaven  and  holl,  the  eternal  truths  of  religion, 
and  the  path  that  led  to  heaven.     He  could  no^but 
bo  a  little  gloomy,  and  the  presence  of  men  aug- 
mented the  gloom.    His  friends  parted  from  him  wntli 
many  kind  wishes  and  hopes  for  the  future.     Like 
his  father,  he  said  nothing  and  watched  them  until 
they  were  out  of  sight.     What  was  he  thinking  of  i 
The  poet  thought  it  might  be  of  the  days  when  the 
rights  now  exercised  by  another  over  Ruth  belonged 
to  him.     The  poet  was  wrong.     Florian  was  won- 
dering if  his  repentance  would  bring  him  the  peace 
of  heart  which  attached  to  the  former  hermit  of 
Solitary  Island! 


helpless 

to   the 

tveeping 

I  of  gold 

1  around 

air  and 

south  in 

iisic.    It 

but  the 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 


P 


m 
m 

li 


rM) 


iiii 


nf 


r.i 

ti 

I* 

'! 

p:  . 

'  1 

1 

■ 

1 ' 

y 

EEPAKATION. 

The  oldest  inhabitant  of  Clayburgh,  mindful  of 
that  day,  years  back,  when  Florian  had  received  a 
public  reception  from  his  townsmen,  and  particularly 
moved  by  the  physical  and  moral  grandeur  of  the 
man  at  the  time,  had  he  seen  the  figure  which  one 
lone  April  day  walked  to  the  depot,  would  have  been 
overcome  with  resentment  and  shame.  Still  pale 
and  emaciated,  stooped  ard  shambling  in  his  walk, 
as  plainly  clothed  as  a  workman,  Florian  proceeded 
tiQrough  the  streets  of  the  town  as  calmly  as  if  it  was 
a  custom  with  him  so  to  do.  People  stared  at  the 
stranger  and  wondered  at  his  likeness  to  "  their  boy," 
speculated  as  to  who  he  might  be,  and  were  mystified 
when  no  one  knew  him.  Florian  was  more  than 
disguised.  It  was  another  person  who  walked  the 
streets  that  day  on  his  pilgrimage  of  reparation. 

He  took  the  morning  train  for  New  York,  buying 
his  ticket  with  the  Squire's  startled  eyes  fixed  on  him 
fearfully.  "Was  this  a  ghost  ?  the  Squire  asked  him- 
self. He  did  not  venture  to  address  the  figure,  and 
Florian  did  not  observe  him,  while  the  more  he  looked 
at  the  undressed  beard  and  the  lean  form  the  less 
resemblance  could  he  see  to  his  famous  boy.  The 
eyes  of  New  Yorkers  were  not  so  easily  deceived. 

Passing  through  the  streets  to  his  long-deserted  office, 

834 


REPARATION. 


335 


)uying 
mhim 
him- 
[•e,  and 
looked 
less 
The 
3eived. 
office. 


he  met  a  few  acquaintances,  and  all  recognized  him, 
offered  him  their  sympathy  for  th'  i^res  of  which 
they  had  heard  nothing,  and  wondered  at  the  odd 
manner  in  which  he  accepted  their  condolences. 
Just  then  he  was  a  political  cipher  and  was  not 
troubled  with  the  presence  of  old  adherents.  A 
paragraph  in  the  paper  announced  his  return  to  the 
metropolis,  and  brought  fear  and  trepidation  into  the 
De  Ponsonby  household,  but  in  no  other  circle  did  it 
create  any  excitement.  No  one  had  any  idea  that 
Florian  would  visit  the  boarding-house  soon  after  his 
arrival  in  the  city,  and  Paul  was  counting  on  that 
supposition  to  get  madame  into  a  reasonable  frame 
of  mind.  All  were  surprised  when  the  servant  one 
day  laidFlorian's  card  in  the  mistress'  hand,  and  they 
heard  his  name. 

"  Send  him  up,"  said  madame,  promptly,  while 
Paul  rose  to  go.  "  No,"  she  continued,  "  you  may 
remain.  This  matter  is  as  public  as  was  his  engage- 
ment.   I  wish  it  to  be  so." 

The  poet  sat  down  disturbed  in  mind.  Frances 
was  in  a  state  of  agony  utterly  beyond  her  vv^ill  to 
control,  but  madame  never  once  alluded  by  word  or 
look  to  her  nervous  manner.  It  was  a  formidable 
court  before  which  the  penitent  presented  himself. 
Yet  Florian  entered  as  indifferently  as  if  he  were  in 
the  lonely  island  cabin,  and,  after  saluting  the  three 
gravely  and  politely,  sat  down.  His  appearance 
astonished  madame  greatly,  and  drew  a  quickly 
smothered  sob  from  Frances,  but  all  signs  of  emotion 
were  presently  buried  in  a  dead  calm,  which  grated 
upon  Paul's  nerves  like  saw-sharpening.  He  was 
bound  by  circumstances,  and  could  say  nothing  and 


336 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


If^ 


'(•    I 


do  nothing  to  alter  the  condition  of  affairs.  The 
battle  lay  between  madame  and  true  love.  If  Flo- 
rian  suffered  from  any  emotion  it  was  visible  only  in 
the  long  interval  which  followed  his  entrance  before 
speaking.  Like  a  true  and  determined  enemy, 
madame  said  not  a  single  word  while  waiting  for 
the  parley  to  begin,  until  Paul  in  his  hard  indigna- 
tion felt  that  a  battery  would  not  be  too  much  to 
bring  to  bear  on  this  feminine  obstructor  to  the  nat- 
ural course  of  penitence  and  love. 

"  I  have  done  you  and  your  daughter  a  great 
wrong,"  Florian  said  with  simple  directness,  "  and  I 
thank  you  for  giving  me  this  opportunity  to  express 
my  sorrow  and  ask  your  pardon.  I  deserted  Miss 
Lynch  for  another  far  beneath  her  in  real  worth.  It 
was  a  heartless  act,  but  at  that  time  I  found  such 
acts  of  mine  easily  justified.  My  eyes  were  opened. 
I  have  no  words  to  express  my  sorro  ,v  for  what  I 
have  done.     I  hope  you  will  forgive  me." 

"  You  were  forgiven  at  that  time,"  said  madame 
gently — so  gently  that  Paul's  heart  leaped  with 
hope. 

"  I  owe  it  to  you  to  say,"  continued  Florian,  bow- 
ing, "that  my  feelings  towards  Miss  Lynch  have 
never  changed.  They  have  only  been  obscured.  I 
believe  sincerely  that  at  one  time  these  feelings  your 
daughter  returned.  Although  she  released  me  from 
the  engagement,  I  do  not  think  she  lost  those  rights 
on  me  which  it  gave  her.  I  am  glad  to  make  the 
poor  restitution  of  renewing  the  offer  which  I  once 
had  the  honor  to  make  to  her.  I  do  it  fully  con- 
scious of  my  own  un  worthiness.  I  beg  of  you  not 
to  misunderstand  my  motives." 


REPARATION. 


337 


The 
f  Flo- 
aly  in 
before 
nemy, 
[g  for 
cligna- 
ich  to 
le  13  at- 


,  great 
'  and  I 
express 
;d  Miss 
th.  It 
id  such 
ppened. 
what  I 

ladame 
with 

I,  bow- 

Ih  have 

[red.    I 

j's  your 

le  from 

rights 
ike  the 

I  once 
|ly  con- 

rou  not 


Madame  never  hesitated  in  her  reply,  although 
while  Florian  was  speaking  she  had  caught  the  peti- 
tions of  three  appealing  faces,  the  third  being  now 
visible  through  the  half-open  door,  Avhere  Peter  was 
listening,  impatient  and  interested, 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  your  motives,"  she  said 
calmly,  "  but  your  offer  we  reject  for  good  reasons. 
It  is  quite  impossible  that  my  daughter  should  ever 
again  consider  marriage  with  you.*" 

The  face  of  Frances  grew  pale  as  death,  but  her 
lips  were  pressed  tight  in  determination.  Paul 
growled  and  Peter  started  forward,  then  drew  back. 
Madame  crushed  these  signs  of  rebellion  by  her  proud 
and  confitient  iudilTerence. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best,"  Plorian  said  after  a  pause, 
lie  had  received  her  answer  without  any  surprise, 
as  if  he  considered  it  a  very  ])ro])er  thing.  "  There 
have  been  many  changes  in  my  life  which  might  not 
be  agreeable  to  you.  In  no  way  am  I  the  same  as 
when  I  first  had  the  honor  of  proposing  for  your 
daughter's  hand.  I  will  never  again  be  the  same,  I 
trust.  I  have  done  all  that  I  know  how  to  do  in 
atoning  for  a  great  injury.  You  have  forgiven  me. 
It  would  be  a  great  pleasure  to  know  that  in  your 
opinion  I  have  done  all  that  is  ])ossible." 

His  wistful  gaze  and  simple  words  disconcerted 
madame  considerably.  She  was  half-convinced  that 
the  man  was  acting,  but  his  motives  were  hidden, 
nor  could  she  discover  them.  There  was  no  ade- 
quate motive  to  explain  this  masquerade. 

"  You  could  not  have  done  more,"  she  answered 
steadily  in  a  tone  that  closed  the  interview.  Florian 
rose  and  bowed  his  farewell,     A  rumor  crept  through 


33 


338 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


hi     ■  • 


political  circles  in  the  metropolis  that  Florian  was 
closing  up  his  legal  business  on  the  })oint  of  retiring 
to  a  more  congenial  field  of  labor.  It  was  only  a 
rumor,  and  before  it  could  be  verified  the  great  poli- 
tician had  utterly  disap])eared  from  the  sight  of 
men.  A  reporter  was  knocking  his  door  out  of  shape 
for  an  interview  at  the  very  moment  which  saw  him 
approaching  Clayburgh  on  the  evening  train.  Thus 
the  world  could  alwavs  knoclv  at  the  doors  of  his 
heart.  Never  again  would  they  open  to  any  of  its 
emissiiries,  and  his  joy  had  somotlnng  fierce  in  it  as 
he  reflected  that,  CJod  willijig,  he  was  entering  Clay- 
burgh from  the  south  for  the  last  time.  Behind 
him  in  the  distance  his  burnt  shi[>s  were  smoulder- 
ing— his  fame,  his  power,  his  wealth,  his  memor}",  his 
love  I  Men  would  nevermore  see  them  in  their 
proud  beauty  sail  rough  seas  towards  glorious  har- 
bors! If  they  heard  of  him— and  he  prayed  they 
would  not — it  would  only  be  to  hear  of  his  conquests 
over  himself  ;  and  probably  they  would  wink,  and 
smile,  and  touch  their  foreheads  knov.ingly  to  insin- 
uate his  mental  weakness,  a  fact  which  pleased  him 
greatly  and  drew  a  smile  fi  i  him,  as  showing  how 
often  the  worhl  mistook'  wisdom  for  foil}'. 

lie  jumped  from  the  train  before  it  reached  the 
depot,  and  made  his  way  acro:-s  the  fields  to  the 
1  iver.  It  was  noAv  the  lirst  weelc  of  May  and  the 
ice  was  gone,  but  the  chilly  air  blew  sharply  across 
the  water,  and  the  shore  resounded  under  the 
l)reakers.  Tie  stood  on  the  hill  for  a  moment  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Linda's  resting-place,  where  the 
tall  monument  pierced  the  sky.  His  resolution  had 
been  to  look  no  more  to  the  past,  to  leave  its  sad 


li\ 


in  was 
etiring 
only  a 
it  poli- 
ght  of 
f  shape 
\\\  him 
Thus 
of  his 
Kj  of  its 
in  it  as 
ig  Clay- 
Behind 
loulder- 
lory,  his 
in  their 
Dus  har- 
ed  they 
inquests 
nk,  and 
to  insin- 
sed  him 
ing  how 

led  the 
to  the 
and  the 
y  across 
ider  the 
ent  with 
Hi  ere  the 
Ition  had 
its  sad 


REPARATION. 


339 


reflections  in  the  grave,  and  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the 
future,  while  his  thoughts  engaged  the  present  and 
made  what  they  could  out  of  it.  At  this  mouient  it 
was  impossible.  Back  went  his  recollection  to  the 
hour  when  Linda  was  in  the  meridian  of  her  health 
and  beauty,  when  he  was  young  and  full  of  hope 
and  unstained  by  sin,  when  Ruth  was  his  by  love's 
clear  title.  The  intervening  yeai's  were  like  a  niglit- 
mare — ignorance  at  the  beginning,  murder  at  the 
end,  and  mystery  everywhere.  Was  he  not  di-eam- 
ing  now  'i  At  a  convenient  spot  along  the  shore  he 
found  a  boat,  whose  he  knew  not,  but  used  it  as  if  it 
were  his  own.  It  was  a  long  and  weary  pull  against 
a  north  wind  until  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
channel;  longer  and  Avearier  across  Eel  Da}'  to  the 
anchorage  below  the  cabin  ;  and  the  night  reminded 
him  of  that  blustering,  raw  evening  when  withTliith 
he  had  first  set  foot  on  this  island.  First  to  the 
grave  and  then  to  the  house  !  He  lit  the  lire  and 
drew  the  curtain,  fondled  Izaak  AValton,  and  settling 
close  to  the  log  blaze,  felt  himself  at  home.  His 
home  !  He  was  cut  off  from  the  world  at  last  and 
forever. 

Ruth  quickly  received  word  of  his  return  and  the 
events  preceding  it,  and  had  a  long  conversation 
with  Pere  Rougevin  touching  the  new  hermit.  As 
a  part  of  a  plan  which  she  had  conceived,  and  the 
P6re  improved  and  ])erfected,  the  Scpiire  was  in- 
formed of  Florian's  presence  in  Clayburgh. 

"  Where  is  he  stopping  ? "  said  the  old  man, 
doubtfully.  "  What's  he  doing  here  at  this  time  of 
the  year  ?     What's  he  come  for?" 

"  Hq  is  living  by  himself  on   Solitary  Island," 


340 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


Mia 


!"    i 


said  Kuth.  "  For  the  rest  you  had  better  ask  him- 
self." 

"  What ! "  murmured  the  Squire,  and  he  said  a 
queer  word  under  his  breath,  "  have  you  Jesuits  got 
hold  of  him  again  ?  " 

"  The  news  came  from  New  York,"  Ruth  re- 
plied indifferently  ;  "  I  know  nothing  more  about  it, 
papa." 

"  Well,  you'll  know  more  after  I  get  back,  girl. 
Living  on  Solitary  Island,  hey  ?  I'll  blow  that  island 
to  the — cats.  It's  more  trouble,  for  a  little  two-acre 
mud-hole  that  it  is,  than  old  Grindstone  I  Does  the 
Pere  know  of  this  ? " 

"  I  told  him,  papa." 

"  Of  course  you  did.  You  and  he  are  always 
plotting  and  planning.  He's  a  sneaky  Jesuit,  and 
rU  tell  him  so  when  I  see  him.  And  mark  me, 
Ruth,  don't  let  me  hear  of  you  or  the  priest  visiting 
that  boy  without  my  permission.  You're  both  free 
and  independent,  but  by  the  shade  of  McKeuzie  I'm 
Sheriff,  and  I'll  make  you  both  feel  it  if  I'm  diso- 
beyed." 

"  We  have  not  the  faintest  desire,  papa,"  said 
Ruth  meekly,  "  to  see  Florian  ;  but  we  fear  he  is 
troubled,  and  we  know  that  there  is  no  one  like  his 
old  friend  to  help  him.  Unless  you  permit  it,  we 
shall  not  go  near  him." 

"  You're  a  deep  pair,"  said  the  distrustful  Squire, 
shaking  his  leonine  head,  "  but  I'm  to  be  ahead  of 
you,  anyhow." 

What  he  feared  and  distrusted  he  scarcely  knew, 
but  he  was  ready  to  maintain  against  all  opponents 
that  Florian's  proper  place  at  any  time  was  New 


REPARATION. 


341 


V 


said 


York  City.  Not  to  be  tliere  was,  in  bis  eyes,  dan- 
gerous for  so  prominent  a  politician.  lie  sbook 
hands  with  the  hermit  on  entering  the  cabin,  and 
sat  down  in  a  panic.  This  was  the  man  who  had 
bought  the  ticket  weeks  previous  in  Clayburgh  sta- 
tion, but  it  surely  was  not  Florian. 

"  What's  happened,  Flory  ? "  he  asked  in  a  hushed, 
awed  voice. 

"  I've  changed  my  method  of  living,''  said  Florian 
gravely. 

"  I  should  think  you  had,"  murmured  the  Squire 
feebly,  "  but  I  don't  get  the  hang  of  this  thing, 
somehow." 

The  hermit  did  not  seem  to  care  much  for  his 
dazed  condition,  as  he  made  no  effort  to  relieve  it. 
The  Squire  shook  off  a  tendency  to  fiiiiit  with 
disgust. 

"  Flory,"  said  he  sternly,  "  I've  sworn  l)y  you 
since  you  were  born,  because  there  was  not  a  year 
nor  an  hour  of  your  life  that  I  couldn't  put  my  hand 
down  and  say,  lie's  just  so.  I  can't  do  that  now. 
What's  come  over  you  ?  Wh}^  are  you  here  instead 
of  in  New  York?  Who's  been  bewitching  you? 
What  has  happened  to  you  ?  Good  God ! "  cried  ho 
in  an  excess  of  feeling,  standing  u])  to  hit  the  table 
into  fragments  with  his  fist,  "  tell  me  something,  or 
I'll  think  you've  been  dead  and  come  back  to  life 
again." 

The  crash  of  the  broken  furniture  sobered  him  for 
an  instant.  Florian  looked  with  slight  displeasure 
at  the  ruin. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  excitement,"  he  said  sooth- 
ingly, and  the  tone  cut  the  Squire  to  the  heart. 


842 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


!.M' 


H  *  i 


He  sat  down  trembling,  almost  crying,  as  a  sus- 
picion of  Dorian's  sanity  entered  his  head. 

"  I  2oas  dead,"  continued  Florian,  "and  I  came  to 
life  again.     You  are  very  shrewd,  Squire." 

He  paused,  and  Pendleton  waited  long  for  further 
information,  but  none  came.  The  hermit  sat  gazing 
into  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  and  at  times 
moved  naturally  around  the  cabin,  arranging  odd 
articles  or  brushing  them.  The  Squire  stared  at 
him  with  a  feeling,  as  he  said  afterwards,  that 
Eev.  Mr.  Buck  was  pouring  ice-water  down  his 
spine. 

"  I  suppose  it  surprises  you,  old  friend,"  Florian 
said,  with  sudden  cordiality,  "  but  I  have  come  here 
to  live  for  good.  You  know  who  lived  here  before 
me.  I  am  not  better  than  he,  am  I  ?  It  pleases  me 
to  follow  him,  and  I  don't  think  the  world  has  any 
reason  to  make  a  fuss  over  it." 

Pendleton  considered  this  expression  of  a  future 
policy  some  moments,  and  then,  reverting  to  the 
words,  "  I  am  not  better  than  he,  am  I  ? "  said  em- 
phatically : 

"  Yes,  you  air,  Flory,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 
Here  a  pause,  while  he  gathered  himself  for  another 
burst,  and  then,  "Better  than  himf  "Why,  what 
was  he  more  than  a  slave  of  the  Russian  Empire — 
with  all  respect  to  him  as  your  father — a  fellow  that 
didn't  dare  call  his  life  his  own  ?  And  you  are 
an  American  citizen,  a  governor,  almost,  of  the 
greatest  State  in  the  Union  and  a  Clay  burgh  boy. 
Flory,  this  looks  like  insanity.  Flory,  I  don't  know 
what  to  say  to  you.  I'm  groping.  Can't  you  look 
and  talk  for  one  minute  as  you  used  to,  Flory  ? " 


a  sus- 


came  to 


further 
:  gazing 
t  times 
ing  odd 
ared  at 
Is,  that 
)wn   his 


Florian 
me  here 
3  before 
;ases  me 
has  any 

I  future 
to  the 
aid  em- 
get  it." 
another 
y.  what 
mpire — 
ow  that 
you  are 
of  the 
•gh  boy. 
t  know 
'^ou  look 


REPARATION. 


348 


This  appeal  made  no  further  impression  on  the 
hermit  than  to  illuminate  his  pallid  face  with  a 
smile.  The  Squire  made  a  few  more  weak  attempts 
upon  the  hermit's  defenses,  and  then  rushed  in  sud- 
den and  overpowering  disgust  for  the  door. 

"  Fve  got  to  think,"  said  he,  "  and  I  can't  do  it 
looking  at  a  corpse." 

He  did  not  hear  Florian  laugh  as  he  banged  the 
door — the  first  laugh  that  had  passed  his  lips  since 
the  night  of  Vladimir's  revelations.  After  an  hour 
he  returned  and  resumed  his  seat  with  determina- 
tion written  all  over  him. 

"  I  must  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  this  thing,"  he 
said  quietly ;  "  and  I'm  going  to  put  some  questions 
as  the  sheriff  of  JeflFerson  County.  What's  to  pre- 
vent me  from  jailing  you  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Florian,  "  unless  the  consequence 
— jailing  yourself." 

"  Now,  Flory,  be  reasonable  and  answer  squarely. 
Have  you  thrown  up  politics  for  good  and  all  ? " 

"  I  have." 

"  And  you  are  going  to  live  on  this  island  for  the 
next  forty  years  or  so  ?  " 

"With  God's  will,  yes." 

"  H'm  !  that  smacks  of  the  Jesuits.  What's  the 
reason  of  all  this,  Flory?  Did  you  get  a  pious 
stroke  ? " 

"  I  suppose  it  was  that,"  said  Florian,  meditating 
as  if  a  new  question  had  touched  his  soul. 

"  Is  it  in  the  papist  line,  lad,  somewhat  like  your 
father  ?  I  hoped  you  were  working  away  from  the 
Jesuits?" 

A  faint  blush  spread  over  Florian's  face. 


m 


?i ' 


h  ]\ 


M 


844 


SOLITAKY    ISLAND. 


f'i 


"  I  am  nearer  to  the  Jesuits  than  ever,  but  not  as 
near  as  I  could  wish." 

"  So  I  thought,"  said  the  Squire,  shaking  his  head 
— "so  I  thought.  And  I  must  say  my  opinion  of 
the  Jesuits  is  considerably  smaller  than  it  was  an 
hour  ago." 

He  reflected  a  few  moments,  and  saw  that  Flo- 
rian's  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"  Had  I  been  the  boss  of  the  Jesuit  corporation," 
said  he,  aiming  eyes  and  finger  at  Florian's  reason, 
"I  think  I  could  have  done  a  smarter  bit  of  business 
than  has  been  done  in  letting  you  bury  yourself  out 
of  sight.  When  you  got  your  pious  stroke  and  came 
to  me  to  have  it  utilized,  put  in  the  market,  so  to 
speak,  I'd  have  thought  in  this  way  :  *  Here's  a  man 
as  clever  as  "Webster,  a  speaker,  a  Avire-puller,  a  states- 
man ;  knows  the  ins  and  outs  of  everything.  Heio 
we  are,  papists  without  nmch  understanding,  Avitli  no 
politicians  to  speak  of  on  our  side ;  nobody  to  look 
after  us  when  the  spoils  are  dividing  and  the  Meth- 
odists are  gobbling  everything  ;  nobody  with  the 
ears  of  the  nabobs  between  his  finger  and  his  thumb 
to  tell  our  story  there.  Here's  a  man  dying  to  get 
such  a  job.'  And  I'd  give  it  to  you  and  send  you 
out,  if  you  did  nothing  less  than  educate  young 
papists  to  do  as  you  did,  Flory,"  said  the  Squire 
solemnly.  "Could  you  let  me  have  the  name  or 
the  daguerreotype  of  the  boss  Jesuit?  I've  heard 
and  seen  a  great  many  fools  in  my  time,  but  I 
put  him  down  as  the  completest  fool  that  was  ever 
bom." 

It  was  an  impressive  speech  and  had  a  meaning 
which  Florian  seized  upon  quickly.     The  Squire  had 


REPARATION. 


846 


sent  home  like  an  arrow  a  tiiouglit  which  had  not 
yet  broken  upon  Florian's  mental  vision.  When  he 
described  his  speech  to  Ruth,  in  fear  that  lio  might 
spoil  the  effect  which  lie  had  created,  she  forbade 
further  visits  to  the  island  until  the  hermit  had  time 
to  revolve  the  thouglit  in  his  mind. 

"  You  know  Flory,"  she  said  to  him — "  how  when 
you  present  him  a  new  idea  he  thinks  and  thinks 
about  it  until  he  knows  it  to  tlie  core.  Let  him  think 
upon  it  for  a  week.     It  was  such  a  very  good  idea." 

"  Wasn't  it,  now  ? "  said  the  gleeful  Squire.  "  I'd 
like  to  present  him  with  one  more,  and  that  would 
fetch  him." 

It  was  reserved  for  Pdre  Rouge vin,  however,  to 
present  the  second  idea  ;  and  as  a  result  of  his  visit 
and  long  talk  with  Florian  Ruth  was  informed  that 
the  time  was  ripe  for  her  interference.  The  Squire 
insisted  on  accompanying  her.  Ruth  could  hear  her 
heart  beat  as  she  approached  the  cabin  above  the 
boulder.  What  would  the  final  result  be?  They 
could  not  keep  from  Florian  the  secret  of  their 
assault  upon  his  determination  to  do  penance  as  a 
solitary.  Would  the  knowledge  drive  him  to  ob- 
stinacy ?  She  did  not  yet  know  the  extent  of  the 
change  which  had  taken  place  in  him.  Florian 
opened  the  door  for  them. 

"  If  your  visitors  are  all  as  persistent  as  we  are," 
said  she,  smiling,  "  you  will  not  have  much  of  your 
solitude." 

"  I  fear  I  am  not  to  have  much  of  it  anyway,"  he 
replied,  in  such  a  tone  as  made  it  hard  to  tell  his 
feelings.  "  Your  father,  here,  has  disturbed  me  on 
that  point,  and  Pere  Rougevin  has  almost  settled  it 


Ifjl 


346 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


ml 


f'ii' 


f 


I'k 


ml 


tliiit  I  shall  go  out  into  the  world  and  be  a  heraiit 
there." 

*'  The  best  thing  the  P6re  ever  did  in  his  life,"  said 
the  Squire. 

"  Which  would  be  very  hard  for  you,  Florian," 
said  Ruth,  with  a  gentle  sympathy  that  woke  him  at 
once,  while  the  Squire  was  resolved  into  a  thunder- 
cloud at  this  treachery. 

"  Euth,  you  toll  me  what  to  do,"  Florian  said 
hunil)ly,  and  submissively. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  endure  this  solitude,"  she 
continued  ;  "  it  may  bo  beautiful  to  certain  natures. 
But  to  be  alone  in  the  busy  world  is  very  trying. 
Of  course  duty  makes  the  hard  things  easy  and 
sweet.  That  would  be  your  only  consolation, 
Florian." 

"  It  is  this  way  with  me,  Ruth,"  he  began  eagerly, 
and  making  no  account  of  the  Squire :  "  I  have 
learned  to  love  this  place,  this  life,  as  I  never  loved 
anything  in  this  world.  You  know  why.  And 
what  I  was  is  such  a  horror  and  shame  to  me  that 
to  return  to  its  scenes  is  like  death.  Yet  it  seems  to 
me  and  to  your  father,  and  to  the  Pore  that  I  ouofht 
not  throw  aside  a  power  which  could  certainly  be 
used  for  the  general  good,  merely  to  satisfy  myself." 

"  And  you  ought  not,  that  is  true " 

"  That's  what  /maintain — that's  what  i'w  main- 
tained all  along ! "  shouted  the  Squire.  ''  Flory,  if 
you  do  otherwise  you  must  write  your  mme  be- 
side  the  boss  Jesuit's." 

"  Now,  papa !  "  said  Ruth  ,jug  the   boiling 

volcano  down  to  a  harmless  t  uier.  "  You  ought 
not,  Florian,  if  there  would  be  no  f' anger  to  your- 


REPARATION. 


347 


hermit 

e,"  said 

lorian," 
I  him  at 
hunder- 

an  said 

le,"  she 
natures, 
trying. 
sy  and 
olation, 

Bagerly, 
'  I  have 
er  loved 
.  And 
me  that 
seems  to 
I  ought 
linlv  be 
myself." 

ve  main- 
Flory,  if 
ame  be- 

boiling 
u  ought 
to  your- 


Kolf  in  holding  a  powor  which  was  to  you  so  strong 
a  temptation." 

"  I  would  take  and  hold  it  under  protest,"  he  ro- 
])li(3d  confidently.  "  I  value  it  no  more  than  a  straw, 
r  cannot  dis<j:uise  from  mvsolf  that  hereafter  I  can 
but  despise  it.  O  Tiutli  !  is  there  no  middle  course? 
Yet  why  do  I  ask?  I  have  set  myself  to  do  that 
which  is  hardest.     Let  me  take  the  worst  with  joy." 

Ruth's  face  kindled  into  enthusiasm. 

"  Well,  there  is  a  middle  course,"  she  said,  trium- 
phantly. "  You  can  remain  in  your  solitude  and 
yet  retain  your  interest  in  the  world." 

Both  gentlemen  uttered  exclamations  of  delight 
or  rage,  and  turned  upon  her — the  hermit,  hopefully, 
the  Squire  in  despair. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  Frances  ? "  she  said. 

"  No,"  and  he  drew  away  as  if  hurt.  "  She  has 
justly  forgotten  me.     I  saw  her.     It  is  all  over." 

"  You  saw  her  mother,  Florian.  If  you  had  seen 
herself  vou  w^ould  not  have  been  in  trouble  lonfj. 
It  is  not  all  over.  That  dear  girl  is  as  faithful  to 
you  as  if  you  never  wronged  her.  She  let  her 
mother  speak  first,  as  obedience  required ;  and  she 
was  silent,  as  became  her  modesty.  But  she  never 
lost  faith  in  you  when  we  all  trembled,  and  she  loves 
you  still." 

This  picture  of  feminine  devotion  drew  the  tears 
to  Ruth's  eves. 

"Then,  besides,  you  were  half-glad  the  test  of 
coming  here  to  live  was  not  to  be  laid  before  her. 
She  would  have  followed  you  to  a  tent,  you  foolish 
fellow.  Florian,  w^here  are  your  wits  1  See  that  hill 
yonder  ?      Build  there  a  pretty  villa,    and   bring 


848 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


Frances  to  preside  over  it.  There  is  no  reason  why  a 
great  politician  should  not  live  among  the  islands  and 
rule  from  this  solitude.  You  need  not  practice  law. 
And  so  your  temptations  are  minimized,  your  influ- 
ence is  preserved,  and  your  solitude  is  saved  to  you." 

It  was  a  sight  to  see  the  Squire's  face  glow  as 
Ruth  reached  her  cliuiax,  and  when  the  last  word 
was  uttered  he  gave  a  cheer  th'xt  rattled  the  loose 
articles  in  the  room. 

"  You  can  think  over  it,"  said  she,  seeing  that  the 
Squire's  emotion  jarred  upon  him.  "  These  things 
cannot  be  done  hastilv.     "  If  it  be  God's  will  that 

ft/ 

you  stay  here " 

"  More  Jesuitism !  "  growled  the  Squire. 

"  You  must  do  so.  If  duty  points  another  road  to 
you,  my  advice  Avill  occur  to  you  as  an  easy  way 
out  of  the  difficulty.  You  will  not  forp-et  Frances  ? " 
she  added  wistfully. 

"  I  can  never  forget  her,"  he  replied.  "  I  thank 
you  for  your  visit,  Ruth.  In  a  little  while  I  can 
decide,  if  I  have  not  already  decided.  Squire,  not 
another  word,  or  I  stay  here  forevei ." 

Pendleton  saw  dimly  that  few  words  and  a  speedy 
departure  were  two  important  points  in  Ruth's  pro- 
gramme, and  for  a  wcnder  be  tucked  his  daughter 
under  his  arm  and,  with  a  ci-ief  farewell,  led  her 
down  to  the  boat. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


TRUE    .HEAET8. 

Clayburgh  was  "  completely  upsot,"  as  a  native 
expressed  it,  by  the  publication  of  the  banns  of  mar- 
riage  between  Paul  Eossiter  ai  d  Ruth  Pendleton. 
It  had  "  reckoned  "  on  her  remaining  an  old  maid ; 
it  "  admired  "  what  the  Squire  would  do  now ;  it 
"  swowed  "  its  astonishment  over  and  over  for  two 
weeks,  at  the  end  of  which  time  the  marriage  Avas 
accomplished  in  white  satin  and  tulle,  and  a  great 
part  of  the  town  assisted  in  the  festivities.  Parker 
C.  Lynch,  as  Peter  Carter  was  now  known,  was  ex- 
ofRcio  the  master  of  the  feast.  In  full  morning- 
dress,  gloved  and  collared  to  perfection,  this  erratic 
representative  of  the  bluest  blood  of  Ireland  was 
a  fine-looking  gentleman  on  the  model  of  an  Eng- 
lish squire,  and,  when  he  posed  or  walked  undor  the 
wide  eyes  of  the  assembly,  showed  that  he  had 
not  forgotten  his  earlier  training.  The  Squire 
co'ild  not  restrain  his  astonishment  or  refuse 
his  admiration.  In  his  suit  of  armor  he  was  as  stiff 
as  a  post ;  growled  and  swore  secretly  at  intervals 
and  looked  anxiously  for  the  opportunity  to  steal 
away  and  disrobe. 

"  Where  did  you  get  the  knack  of  wearing  this 
confounded  rig  ? "  said  he  to  Peter.    "  Can  you  see 

349 


w 


:iir 


:i 


350 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


'!:  :l 


!,f 


those  tails  of  mine  ?  I  feel  like  a  swallow.  I  don't 
know  what  minute  I  am  going  to  fly." 

"  You're  a  ground-swallow,"  replied  Peter,  with 
a  grin,  and  a  drinking  gesture.  "  Ye're  cavernous, 
Squire.  Faith  ye  look  well  for  an  old  country  buck 
that  knows  so  little,  and  ye  carry  the  odd  garment 
neatly." 

"  How  do  you  manage  to  do  it  ?  "  said  the  Squire 
awe-stricken. 

"  It  was  born  there,"  Peter  said — "  the  coat  I 
mean.  I  had  it  on  when  I  was  born.  D'ye  notice 
the  shape  of  my  legs  ?  Ye  can  never  wear  a  swal- 
low-tail unless  you  are  sluiped  so." 

The  Squire  looked  down  mournfully  at  a  fearful 
waste  of  thighbone  and  flesh  on  his  particular  per- 
son. 

"  I  must  look  awful,"  said  he  sadly.  "  Couldn't 
we  get  away,  Peter,  and  get  rid  of  these  togs  ?  " 

Not  the  least  distinguished  of  the  guests  was  Mrs. 
Buck  and  her  minister,  as  faultless  in  costume  as  of 
old.  The  good  lady  had  been  somewhat  left  in  the 
shade  since  the  discovery  of  Florian's  real  parentage, 
and  her  vanity  had  received  a  deep  wound  in  being 
cut  off  so  roughly  from  her  famous  brother.  Mr. 
Buck  alone  could  have  told  her  severe  disappoint- 
ment at  not  having  l)een  the  Princess  Linda,  and 
her  ravings  over  the  possibility  of  Mrs.  "Winifred 
having  put  Linda  in  her  place.  These  weaknesses 
Sara  kept  from  the  world  prudently.  She  was  now 
quite  a  mother  in  Israel.  Five  blooming  and  clever 
children  clung  on  occasions  to  her  voluminous  skirts, 
and  her  matronly  figure,  with  its  still  coquettish 
movements,  was  almost  charming.     Her  faith  was 


TRUE   HEARTS. 


ool 


wholly  dead.  She  never  was  troubled  with  a  single 
longing  for  the  truths  on  which  she  had  been  fed, 
nor  with  a  single  scuple  as  to  her  apostasy.  In 
being  liberal  enough  to  consider  Catholics  on  a  par 
with  Episcopalians  rnd  in  despising  the  sects  she 
considered  herself  doctrinally  safe.  She  seized  upon 
the  Squire  at  a  most  critical  moment.  Peter  had 
just  winked  at  him  knowingly  and  then  disappeared 
into  the  upper  rooms. 

"  Aren't  you  happy,  Squire  ?  "  buzzed  Sara  in  his 
ears.  "  Who  would  have  thought,  knowing,  as  we 
do,  all  that  has  happened,  that  this  day  would  ever 
have  come  ?  Who  is  Mr.  Rossiter  ?  Such  a  fascin- 
ating man !  How  is  it  that  he  wasn't  gobbled  up 
by  a  handsomer  woman  than  our  Ruth  ? " 

"  Because  in  Xew  York,  where  tlicre  aren't  any 
women,"  said  the  sarcastic  Squire,  "he  didn't  see 
any  one  handsomer.  If  he  had  come  to  Clayburgh 
first,  where  the  women  are  as  thick  as  sardines,  Ruth 
wouldn't  have  had  a  chance." 

The  two  old  gentlemen  finally  nuide  themselves 
comfortable  in  the  kitchen  attic,  as  became  barba- 
rians fond  of  undress  uniforms,  cards,  and  punch. 
Once  the  Squire  felt  a  mystery  in  the  air,  and  ex- 
postulated with  Ruth. 

"  Why  isn't  Flory  here  ?  "  he  asked. 

"The  man  with  the  gizzard,"  said  Peter. 

"  Give  him  time,"  replied  Ruth.  "  These  great 
men  don't  come  and  go  as  we  common  people  do." 

"  Common  people !     I'm  sheriff  of  the  county  !  " 

"  And  I  represent  the  Tribune,^^  said  Peter. 

"  Don't  be  q  uarrelsome.  When  Florian  comes  you 
shall  see  and  hear  him." 


352 


SOLITARY   ISLAND. 


'.it     ' 


"  What's  all  this  running  about  for  ? " 

"  Now,  Papa,  go  away  and  be  reasonable  or  I  shall 
punish  you." 

"  Gimme  my  punishment  now,"  urged  the  Squire, 
and,  after  pulling  his  whiskers,  she  dismissed  him 
with  a  kiss.  At  twilight  the  guests  were  gone,  and 
the  Squire  and  Peter  were  peacefully  sleeping  off 
the  effects  of  the  day's  excitement.  The  poet  and 
his  bride  stood  together  on  the  veranda,  facing  the 
calm  waters  of  the  river,  her  head  resting  on  his 
shoulder  and  her  dee])  eyes  watching  the  stars  in  the 
cool,  far-reaching  sky. 

"It  is  all  over,"  she  sighed,  occasionally — "all 
over.  One  effect  of  a  steady  life  in  these  old  vil- 
lages is  peculiar.  The  years  seem  as  days.  I  am 
not  ten  days  older  in  thought  than  when  Linda  used 
to  come  down  that  road — O  my  dear  little  princess ! 
— waving  her  hands  and  singing  to  me  a  long  way 
off.  All  the  nights  like  these  seem  as  one,  there 
have  been  so  many  of  them." 

"  And  there  are  to  be  so  many  of  them,"  said  the 
poet. 

"  Let  us  hope  so,  dear,"  said  she.  "  With  all  the 
sufiFering  and  uncertainty  in  the  past  there  has  been 
more  beauty  in  it  than  ugliness,  more  good  than  evil. 
Even  poor  Florian  will  find  certain  and  unexpected 
rest  to-night." 

"  There  are  two  figures  coming  down  the  road, 
Kuth.     It  is  time  for  Florian  to  be  here." 

"  Do  you  meet  them,  and  then  send  Florian  up  to 
the  parlor,"  said  she.  "  Tell  him  I  would  like  to 
see  him." 

P6re  Eougevin  and  Florian  came  up  the  steps  to- 


TRUE  HEARTS. 


353 


gether,  and  the  politician  congratulated  the  poet 
where  he  stood.  The  three  gentlemen  seemed  to 
be  in  perfect  accord,  and  at  ease  Avith  one  another. 
Florian  proceeded  alone  to  the  apartment  where 
Ruth,  all  aglow  with  delight,  awaited  him. 

"Accept  my  best  wishes  for  your  future  happi- 
ness," said  he ;  "  the  present  is  all  your  own." 

She  looked  at  him  with  satisfaction.  His  dress 
was  the  usual  neat-fitting  citizen's  costume,  his  hair 
had  been  cut  and  his  beard  trimmed.  Florian,  sub- 
dued and  pale,  was  very  much  himself  again. 

"  I  conclude  from  your  appearance,"  said  Euth, 
"  that  conscience  has  again  decided  against  a  solitary 
life  for  you." 

"  It  is  settled,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am  still  to  remain 
in  the  political  world — most  of  the  time  here  ;  as  it 
may  need  in  New  York." 

"  You  are  very  sad  over  it.  Have  you  forgotten 
my  ma  media  ?  I  flattered  myself  you  would  act  on 
that  immediately," 

"  How  gladly  would  I,  if  it  rested  only  with  my- 
self! But,  Ruth,  put  yourself  in  my  place.  You 
know  the  motive  I  bad  in  deserting  Frances.  I  have 
no  courage  that  would  send  me  to  the  feet  of  one  I 
have  so  wronged  to  ask  a  great  favor." 

"  How  is  it  ever  to  be  done  ?  "  said  Ruth. 
"  Frances  has  forgiven  you,  will  have  no  other  but 
you,  waits  for  yoa,  weeps  for  you.  She  is  not  bold 
enough,  and  you  are  excessively  humble.  This  will 
never  do.  There  should  be  no  go-betweens,  yet  I 
cannot  see  how  it  is  to  be  avoided  if  you  will  not 
speak  for  yourself." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 
23 


'/'.' 


,1 


I!' 


t! 


354 


SOLITARY  ISLAND. 


"  It  would  be  a  great  happiness  for  me,"  he  said, 
"  to  have  the  support  and  sympathy  of  one  so  ten- 
derly loved.  Yet  you  know  her  bringing  up.  You 
see  the  life  that  awaits  me  and  those  Avho  attach 
themselves  to  my  fortunes.  liow  can  I  ask  her  to 
banish  herself  to  Solitary  Island  ? " 

"It  might  be  hard  enough,  but  heartache  and 
luxury  are  not  always  preferable  to  a  handsome 
villa  and  content  on  the  island." 

"  You  leave  mo  no  way  of  escape,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  laying  a  snare  for  you.  Do  you  know  that 
I  have  been  over-bold  ?  I  wrote  to  your  Frances. 
I  told  her  everything  as  I  knew  it.  I  asked  her  if 
the  past  could  not  be  mended  in  tlie  only  way  that 
it  could  be.  She  wrote  to  me  a  verv  brief  letter  ! 
"What  do  vou  think  it  said  ? " 

He  waited  for  her  to  answer  her  own  question. 
"Read  it,"  she  said  i)lucing  it  in  his  hands.  It  con- 
tained but  a  single  sentence. 

"  Tell  him  he  may  come." 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Florian  with  a  sigh. 

"  You  are  a  happy  man,  Florian." 

"  And  I  owe  so  much  of  it  to  you,  Ruth,"  he  re- 
plied gratefully. 

They  went  out  on  the  veranda,  where  the  priest 
and  Paul  sat  talking.  Both  gentlemen  shook  hands 
with  hhn  in  silence,  and  the  conversation  drifted 
into  commonplace  matters.  The  marble  shaft  bear- 
ing Linda's  name  was  visible  from  the  house.  The 
calm  waters  of  the  river  lay  placid  in  the  moonlight. 
It  was  an  hour  of  great  rest  for  these  four  persons, 
whose  saddest  memories  were  connected  with  the 
scene  before  them.    Although  they  were  full  of  joy 


TRUE  HEARTS. 


355 


at  the  happy  ending  of  so  many  difficulties,  the  re- 
membrance of  what  had  happened  chastened  that 
joy  severely,  and,  if  they  saw  before  them  a  pleasant 
future,  it  was  made  so  only  by  the  hope  that,  no 
matter  what  fortune  befell  them,  God  would  never 
permit  them  to  wander  from  His  fold.  Life  is  hard 
enough,  and  death  bitter,  but  when  sin  takes  hold  of 
both  there  is  no  sorrow  can  surpass  them. 


THE  END. 


